


complex

by downn_in_flames



Series: Complicated [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, I promise, also there's a murder subplot, be warned there's angst coming in the middle, but there's a happy ending, everyone's in their mid-20s and no one has their lives together, i have promised multiple people on twitter, it's literally my pinned tweet at this point, james and abby are engaged, so like just a wild ride on all accounts, this is a sequel, which is a bit too real tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2019-07-27 03:24:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 83,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16210397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downn_in_flames/pseuds/downn_in_flames
Summary: Abby Winchester is working to track down the perpetrators of the single largest massacre in wizarding history. She’s also planning a wedding.One of those things is probably going to kill her – and right now, she’s betting on the latter.{sequel to Complicated} - {on hiatus until 17 august}





	1. Complexity #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once a publicity spectacle, always a publicity spectacle.

Somehow, a handful of reporters have managed to infiltrate the Ministry lobby. This discovery is made abundantly clear to me the moment I step out of the Floo, because I’m almost immediately assaulted with a barrage of questions and demands.

“Abby, show us that rock!”

“ _Witch Weekly_ readers are positively  _dying_ to know proposal details!”

“Is it true that James only proposed because he knocked you up?”

I swear to Merlin, if I had a Galleon for every time a reporter accused me of being pregnant, I'd never have to lay a finger on my trust fund.

I can’t pretend there’s not at least some part of me that secretly enjoys this random attention from reporters, even if it  _is_  only because I’m dating – or, I guess at this point, engaged to – the eldest son of the Saviour of the Wizarding World.

But I’ve also learned over the years that basically anything I say to them will somehow be irreparably twisted into something scandalous or vile.

So instead of opening my mouth, I purposefully tuck a lock of hair behind my ear with my left hand as I walk, giving the reporters a very clear view of the diamond adorning my ring finger. That image should hold them over for a while – hopefully.

But I’ll get lunch delivered to the office today for good measure.

I step onto the lift, and luckily, it’s all older men in dress robes – none of whom have even the slightest interest in engagement details. Which is a relief, because I’m sure that between the office today and dinner at the Burrow tonight, I’ll be recounting the story with alarming frequency.

It’s a good story, to be fair. James hadn’t been joking about doing something elaborate.

I spend the rest of the lift ride and walk to the office in a bit of a daydream – thinking about a weekend spent walking along the Seine and forcing James to try escargot is much more appealing than listening to the guy next to me ramble on about the ink in his office not being completely black.

And predictably, I only just make it to my desk before Aaliyah hits me with her first question.

Aayliyah Johnson is the only other recent investigative department hire, and as a result, she’s got the desk directly across from mine. And as is the way things go, she’s also my closest work friend.

“So… the engagement article in the  _Prophet_. Real or fake?”

I drop my purse on the ground. “Real,” I confirm.

As evidence, I hold out my hand in her direction, wiggling my fingers a little.

Aaliyah’s dark brown eyes widen as she looks at the ring. “Holymother of  _Merlin_ ,” she says. “Potter did good.”

“I did what now?” Al looks up from the papers he’s been reading, clearly having caught mention of his surname.

“Not you, Al,” Aaliyah replies, rolling her eyes. “I’m referring to the Potter responsible for this stunner of an engagement ring.”

 “Oh yeah,” Al says, grinning. “For someone who claims to have no understanding of women’s fashion, James is uncannily good at picking out rings. I think he’s basically picked out every ring in our family at this point - and I can’t speak for Victoire, but Cecile  _adores_  hers.”

I look down at the ring – an oval diamond encircled with a halo of smaller stones – and I can’t help but smile at it, even though I’ve basically spent most of the weekend admiring it.

And it matches perfectly with the ring on the finger next to it: the tiara-shaped one that James gave me in seventh year.

“So I need to know.” Aaliyah announces. “How’d he ask? Wasn’t his family supposed to be taking the both of you on some surprise trip this weekend?”

And here we go with retelling number one.

“Yeah, that wasn’t true, apparently,” I reply, shooting a significant glance at Al, who’d lied to me all of last week about that part. “Turns out it was just him taking me on the surprise trip… and it was to Paris.”

I’m doing my best to act casual about it, but it’s hard to fight off the giddiness when Aaliyah squeals loudly, alerting at least half the office to her presence. The door to Hyslop’s office slams shut of its own accord – he’s apparently not in the mood to deal with noisy junior Aurors this morning.

“He took you to Paris? How romantic!”

I laugh at that. “James doesn’t do anything halfway. He’s either a complete idiot or the most romantic bloke on the planet – with absolutely no in between.”

Aaliyah comes over and sits on my desk; she’s apparently giving up on any sort of semblance that we’re actually working. “So what – he proposed in front of the Eiffel Tower or something?”

“Nah,” I answer, sitting down in my chair. “And I probably would’ve killed him if he’d tried to propose in front of a massive crowd of people running around with their Muggle cell phones attached to giant plastic poles.”

“Plastic… poles?” Aaliyah crinkles her eyebrows at that. “I will never understand Muggle technology. But go on.”

I shrug. “We just did a lot of the basic Muggle tourist-y stuff all day Saturday, and after dinner, we were walking through the Luxembourg Gardens and he stopped in front of this gorgeous fountain and just… got down on one knee.”

I leave out the actual speech that accompanied James’ proposal, which was equal parts soppy, hilarious, and entirely inappropriate. It’s one of those things that feels really personal, and I’d rather keep those little details close to my heart.

“And then I said yes, and he’d somehow collaborated with Freddy to set up all sorts of fireworks that were triggered by my voice, so it ended up being some huge thing, even though no one else was around to see it.”

“I mean, that’s about what you expected, wasn’t it?” she says, briefly pausing to wave at what I assume is one of the senior Aurors walking into the office. “Didn’t he promise you something super dramatic?”

I nod. “And it’s safe to say he delivered.”

“Well it was fucking adorable,” she confirms. “Not to mention it’s setting unrealistic proposal expectations for all us  _normal_  people out here.”

I swat her good-naturedly. “Oi, James and I are normal. He’s just occasionally really overdramatic.”

Aaliyah gives me a skeptical look. “Remind me, how’d you two get together again? Because last I checked, some massive tumultuous chain of events that involved you two going from hating each other to being head-over-heels in love in the span of a year doesn’t sound  _normal_ to me.”

“Not to mention, you two are one of the magical media’s favorite couples to write about,” Al chimes in, unhelpfully. “You guys got a whole half page article in today’s  _Prophet_ – Cecile and I’s engagement only got a few paragraphs.”

They… make valid points. There’s a decent bit of James and I’s relationship that is about as far from normal as one can get.

“Ooh, sounds like someone’s jealous,” I taunt him.

Al laughs. “Oh no, not at all. They’ve literally come up with the  _weirdest_ shit about you two – I’m rather happy to  _not_ have to deal with that.”

“You get better at ignoring it as time goes on,” I answer.

Aaliyah changes the subject. “So, since you’re officially getting married to a Potter, do you think you can use your power as the boss’ future daughter-in-law to get me out of all of this paperwork?”

She shoots a look of annoyance at the various pieces of parchment scattered all over her desk.

“Trust me, if that worked, do you really think I’d be here doing paperwork with you?” Al jokes, gesturing to the stack of files on his desk for emphasis.

“True,” I reply, looking at Aaliyah. “Biological sons would probably get preferential treatment over daughter-in-laws anyways, so I’m going to go with ‘no.’ ”

Another voice snaps us out of our conversation. “Potter! Winchester! Johnson! There’s a meeting starting in 2 minutes!”

“Shit,” Aaliyah mutters. “Forgot about that one.”

 

* * *

 

The remainder of the workday passes by relatively uneventfully.

There haven’t been a ton of interesting cases to pop up lately, so I spend most of the day working on the ‘independent project’ I’ve been assigned – an essentially impossible task of figuring out a way to identify the caster of a Killing Curse without actually having the wand it was cast with.

As a result, I’m more than ready to leave the office by the time 5 p.m. rolls around.

There aren’t any reporters hanging around in the lobby this time; either they were satisfied by the confirmation of the engagement rumours, or the Ministry security actually figured out how to get them out.

I get home to an empty flat – which is a bit surprising, because James is almost always home earlier than me.

I swap out my more formal work clothes for something a bit more fitting of a family dinner – a red skirt and black and white striped top. I’ve only just changed when I hear the front door click open.

“You’re home early.” I look up from pulling on a pair of black booties to see James standing in the doorway.

“I only just got home a few minutes ago,” I answer, walking over to him and kissing him on the cheek as a greeting. “I just figured we probably shouldn’t be late to our own engagement dinner.”

“Yeah,” he smirks. “I don’t think that one would go over well with Nana Molly.”

“So change out of that suit and we can go,” I reply, walking around him and out of the bedroom, playfully tugging on his jacket collar as I go.

When I walk down the stairs and into the living area, I notice a few file folders laying on the kitchen table; I assume they’re somehow related to James’ work.

He’s still got a job in Magical Law, although at this point I really think he’s just doing it for the sake of having a job – it’s not something he loves, but he’s got absolutely no idea where he’d go if he left.

It’s an uncharacteristically cautious decision for him, but I suppose the rules are changed when the stakes are having a steady income.

James comes bounding down the stairs a few minutes later, dressed in jeans and a dark green shirt, with a surprising amount of energy for someone who’s been working for the past eight hours.

“Ready to endure a million wedding planning questions?”

“I should  _hope_  no one’s already asking about the wedding when we only got engaged two days ago,” I answer, although the more logical part of me knows that’s not true.

“Please,” James scoffs. “You know my family. They’ve probably been planning quietly for months now, and they’re all going to start making ‘suggestions’ tonight.”

I shrug. “We’ll make it through somehow.”

“Just… if anyone suggests the same cake maker as Al’s wedding, turn them down. Carrot cake at a wedding is a disgrace,” James replies, looking incredibly solemn.

I get the feeling the cake is the only part of the wedding that he has any opinions about.

“Noted,” I say, laughing.

“Hey, guess what?”

I look up at James, whose hazel eyes are twinkling as he takes a step towards me. “What?”

He grins. “We’re getting married.”

And he’s so adorably cheeky about it that I suddenly  _really_ want to kiss him.

“Damn right we are,” I say, sliding my fingers into the belt loops of his jeans and tugging him towards me so that his body is flush against mine.

James doesn’t need to be asked twice – almost instantaneously, he’s dipped his head down to bring his lips to my own, and we’re back to that same old song and dance that we do so well.

I’m positive that there’s some sort of detail that I’m missing right now – that there’s something that’s supposed to be happening before we leave for the Burrow – but I can’t seem to remember it now, while my body and mind are both so otherwise occupied.

Instead, I’m pulling him closer as I accidentally back myself into the kitchen table. James responds by grabbing one of my legs and hooking it around his hip, and somehow this turns into me lying on my back on the kitchen table with James above me, all heavy breathing and wandering hands.

His hand is sliding up my skirt and toying with the waistband of my knickers and – honestly, how big of a deal would being late to our own engagement dinner be, really? Everyone’ll get over it. The idea of having sex on our kitchen table seems far, far more appealing at the moment.

Unexpectedly, I hear the door open. “Oi, are you two about ready to – oh _, shit._ ”

That. That was the detail I was missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to Complex! This is the sequel to Complicated that starts about 3 years after the last story ended – and it’s about to be a wild ride, so buckle up, folks. I’m anticipating it’ll end up being somewhere around 35 chapters. Expect updates every other Saturday!
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 2…
> 
> “Awfully bold of you to assume this is the only time we’ve gotten up to things on this table,” James says.
> 
> Freddy’s eyes go wide. “What the fu - “
> 
> “Relax, Freddy,” I interrupt, rolling my eyes and hopping down off the table. “We do clean things, you know. We’re not animals.”
> 
> He smirks at me. “Are you sure? Because the two of you were going at it like rabbits just then.”


	2. Complexity #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family gatherings can be exhausting affairs.

James instantly whirls around, and I do my best to sit up and straighten out my skirt as if nothing’s happened, even though Freddy has definitely just witnessed James with his hand so far up my skirt that there’s absolutely _no_ mystery where things were going.

“Remind me to never eat on that side of your table ever again,” he says, somehow looking both disgusted and amused all at once.

Really, between James and I, _one of us_ should’ve remembered that Freddy had said he was coming to ours before heading to the Burrow. And that he somehow has wand access to our front door.

“Awfully bold of you to assume this is the only time we’ve gotten up to things on this table,” James says, and I can practically _hear_ the smirk on his face from his tone of voice alone.

Freddy’s eyes go wide. “What the fu – ”

“Relax, Freddy,” I interrupt, rolling my eyes and hopping down off the table. “We do _clean_ things, you know. We’re not _animals_.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you sure? Because the two of you were going at it like rabbits just then.”

“Give us a break,” James says, throwing an arm around my shoulder and pulling me closer to his side. “We just got engaged.”

“Correction,” Freddy replies, pointing a finger at the both of us for emphasis. “You got engaged two days ago. And you’ve been on vacation in Paris for those past two days. Which means you have no excuse – don’t act like you two weren’t shagging at least three times a day that whole time.”

I avoid making eye contact with him; I’m not about to let him have the satisfaction of being right. He must be able to read James’ expression though, because he bursts out laughing anyways.

“Neither of you are ever allowed to complain about how long it’s been since you got laid – I will win that battle every time.”

I have to admit, I’m surprised Freddy _still_ hasn’t moved on – it’s been almost two years since Caroline moved to the States and, barring a few rebound attempts, Freddy has barely given anyone else the time of day. I suppose it’s fair enough; she _was_ his first love, and you don’t get over that easily.

But still. It’s _Freddy_.

“Can we just go ahead and Floo to the Burrow now?” James asks impatiently. “And can you maybe _not_ tell the whole family what you just walked in on?”

Fred grins mischievously. “I’ll keep quiet if you can try to keep it in your pants for the rest of the evening. You almost gave _me_ a heart attack – just imagine what walking in on you two would do to Nana Molly.”

He’s having entirely too much fun with this. I’m remembering to manually lock the doors next time.

“But also,” he adds, “there’s a reason I wanted to come by here first. I have an engagement gift – and it’s… _especially_ fitting, given the scene I arrived to.”

He reaches into his coat pocket – which must have an extension charm on it – and pulls out a bottle of Ogden’s Old, wrapped in what appears to be a garland of Muggle condoms.

“The original plan was to give this to you the night you got engaged, but James just _had_ to be an overly romantic sod and propose in fucking Paris,” he says, holding the bottle out to us. “My best mate may be getting married, but you two are _not allowed_ to start having kids yet. I’m too young for that shit. Hence, I provided extra protection.”

I roll my eyes. “No one’s having a kid yet, Freddy, don’t you worry.”

But I take the bottle from him anyways and set it on the kitchen counter. If nothing else, that firewhisky will definitely be put to good use.

“Alright,” Freddy claps his hands together, “shall we go then? I can’t wait to watch my entire family obsess over your wedding details nonstop for a couple of hours.”

James nudges me with his elbow. “Told you.”

 “Yeah, yeah,” I reply dismissively. “Let’s go.”

So one by one, we go through the fireplace, tumbling out into the familiar and homey living room of the Burrow.

“You’re late!” Mrs. Weasley says, as soon as all three of us are present. “We were beginning to think we were going to have to start preparing dinner without the couple of the hour.”

Despite this scolding, she still comes over and gives us all hugs, and tells us both how excited she is that James finally ‘got his act together.’

“Wait, I want to see this ring!” Lily says, rushing over. “James refused to send me any pictures, so I’ve just been _dying_ of curiosity at Hogwarts for the past two weeks.”

James looks at her, affronted. “You’re seeing your brother for the first time since you left for term in September, and you care more about a piece of jewelry?”

“Yes,” she answers seriously, before turning back to me.

I laugh and oblige her, holding out my left hand.

“If I’m so low on your priority list, I guess I’m just going to have to return that Christmas gift I got you…” James says, teasingly.

Lily, for her part, doesn’t take the bait.

“Oh my Godric, it’s _stunning_ ,” she gushes, before turning back to her brother. “And stop being such a prat, James. I’m getting another sister and there are officially going to be more Potter girls than boys – I’m allowed to be excited about that.”

I exchange a look with James. We’ve actually talked about this once before – I’m not sure if I want to take his last name when we get married. There’s a lot of weight that comes with it.

That moment is interrupted by Dom suddenly coming into the room, beaming. “My best friend is engaged!”

She throws her arms around my neck, and there’s a moment where I’m fairly certain she’s going to crush me.

James sighs dramatically. “Fucking hell, does everyone in this family care more about my fiancée than me?”

Dom replies with, “Yeah, you’re old news,” just as Ginny walks into the room and snaps, “Language, James!”

“Sorry, mum,” he mutters.

From there, it feels like James and I go through a constant parade of family members, most of whom want to know wedding details, even though we have absolutely none to tell them.

James was 100% right, and he’s definitely going to take the mickey out of me later for that.

I do end up promising Dom that she’ll be the first to know when we start trying to pick dates, because she’s got the trickiest schedule to work with – professional Quidditch is surprisingly unforgiving of absences for ‘frivolous’ things like weddings.

As a result of all of this, I feel like I’ve run a marathon by the time we actually gather in the dining room for dinner. James has somehow ended up holding Margeaux, Teddy and Victoire’s three-month-old baby girl, while her parents help Mrs. Weasley bring all the food out from the kitchen.

He’s surprisingly adept at it – which is a lot of progress from when she was first born, and James had frantically whispered ‘what do I do with my arms?’ to me approximately 30 seconds before Teddy handed her to him. He’s currently bouncing up and down on his toes, making a variety of funny faces at Margeaux as she gurgles with delight.

Watching James with her almost makes me want to have kids of our own.

The operative word in that sentence being _almost_. As I have already told Freddy once tonight, I have absolutely zero interest in starting down that road anytime soon. Watching James interact with other people’s kids is about as far as I’m willing to go at the moment.

Once dinner is actually served and James is freed from baby-watching duties, our end of the table ends up being comprised of me, James, Freddy, Dom, Molly, and Louis. Give or take a few key players, it’s basically the exact same set-up as the majority of our meals in seventh year.

I’m apparently not the only one who’s reflecting on the parallels.

“Look how far you’ve come since seventh year, James,” Molly says as she scoops shepherds’ pie onto her plate. “Who would’ve known that you’d completely overcome your fear of commitment and be engaged three years later?”

“Oi, I was never ‘afraid of commitment,’ ” James protests through a mouthful of food. _Charming_.

Dom scoffs loudly. “Yeah, sure, whatever you say.”

James puts his fork down and looks at Dom, a bit more seriously. “Given that I’ve had the longest standing relationship out of all of you, I think that joke is officially dead.”

Fred laughs loudly. “He has a point. You’re not allowed to talk about people having commitment issues, Miss I-Bring-a-New-Guy-Home-Each-Week.”

Dom pretends to think about that for a moment. “Point taken.”

“So I take it the bloke from The Augurey didn’t work out?” Louis chimes in, looking over at his sister.

The Augurey has somehow become one of our most frequented haunts – and it’s a bit aptly named, because the mixture of loud music and insanely strong spirits almost always foretells the death of good decision-making skills.

“Oh, fuck no,” she replies, with a laugh. “Truth be told – I still can’t really remember what his name was.”

“I thought you said it was Wesley?” Molly replies.

Dom shrugs. “I think it was either that or Weston, but honestly, the bar was fucking loud and, well, we didn’t _talk_ much after we left.”

Louis suddenly makes a spluttering sound, and I look over to see him covering his mouth with his hand. “I really didn’t need to know that,” he says, once he manages to swallow the bite of food he’d choked on.

“Right, because before this exact moment, you thought we’d just gone home and played Wizard’s Chess for the rest of the night,” Dom quips.

“I was living in denial,” he argues.

“Lou,” I interrupt, “didn’t you _also_ go home with someone that same night?”

James, Freddy, and Molly all start laughing, while Louis attempts to rectify his hypocrisy. “Rhiannon is different. We have an arrangement.”

“And you had an ‘arrangement’ with Javier a few months ago, and Hunter before that,” Dom replies. “So if I’m a serial one-night-stander, you’re a serial fuck-buddy-er. Face it – the Potter boys are apparently the only ones in this family capable of functional relationships.”

Louis mulls that one over for a minute. “Fair enough,” he answers eventually. “How’d the rest of us end up so fucked up, anyways?”

“Unrealistic expectations that all Hogwarts relationships would somehow last in the real world?” comes Freddy’s response.

I detect… just a bit of bitterness there.

“That’ll do it,” Dom chirps back, her voice laced with artificial cheerfulness.

Down the table, someone clears their throat. I look over to see Harry standing up from his chair, wine glass in hand.

“I propose a toast,” he says, looking over at where James and I are sitting, “to making our already big family just a little bigger.”

“And to finally having girl Potters outnumber the boys!” Lily adds.

James gives me another significant look. With the frequency that this keeps coming up, I think this is probably a decision that James and I should make sooner rather than later.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Lils. Abby hasn’t decided if she even wants to take my last name yet.”

This doesn’t seem to faze Lily.

“That’s just a technicality,” she responds. “It’s the principle of the thing. We’ll have more girls than boys in the family, regardless of whether she’s a Winchester or a Potter.”

She pauses for a moment, before adding, “Or if she decides to hyphenate it. Although Winchester-Potter is a bit of a mouthful, so like, I’d personally advise against that one.”

I laugh. “Noted.”

Harry, for his part, tries to steer the conversation back on course. “Right, well, regardless of last name, cheers, James and Abby. We’re all thrilled for the both of you.”

There’s an echo of ‘cheers’ all the way down the table, and James leans over and initiates a chaste kiss. For the millionth time in the past couple of days, I feel a rush of indescribable joy; I’ve basically been a part of this family for years now, but now, it’s going to be official.

And it’s perfect.

Ginny gets up to fetch a cake from the kitchen – I can only hope it’s not carrot, because James might go into a strop if it is. As soon as she walks out of the room though, a silvery animal materializes in the middle of the room.

“Harry,” the voice of the Patronus rings out, “and Minister Granger-Weasley, please report to the Ministry immediately. It’s urgent.”

As the bear dissipates, the room falls oddly silent.

I’m not certain, but that voice sounds an awful lot like Hyslop; although why _he’d_ be at the Ministry at this hour is beyond me. I do find it funny that he chose to address Harry by his first name and Hermione by her formal title, all in the same sentence.

“That sounds… important,” Hermione says, standing up from her chair. “I can’t remember the last time they called _both_ of us in after hours.”

“It better be important, if I’m leaving a family dinner for this,” Harry replies, getting up from his seat as well. He walks over to where James and I are sitting, giving each of us a squeeze on the shoulders. “Congratulations again.”

“Yes,” Hermione adds. “Congratulations, you two. And Abby, please don’t forget to owl me if you’d like a copy of the binders I used to plan Ron and I’s wedding - they were really quite helpful.”

“Okay, I will,” I answer, knowing full well that I probably won’t. I consider myself an organized person, but I’m not Hermione-level organized. I really don’t want to micromanage exactly how many inches apart each table is from one other.

Only a few moments after they leave, Ginny walks back into the room, holding the cake (and it’s _not_ carrot, thank Merlin).

“Did… Harry and Hermione just leave?” she asks, setting the cake down on the table and letting Mrs. Weasley take over cutting it.

“Ministry summoned ‘em, sounded like,” Ron answers, looking at the now-empty seat next to him.

Ginny puts her hands on her hips, glaring at the door. “And he didn’t even bother to find me and tell me? I ought to kick his ass for that.”

“Language, Ginevra,” Mrs. Weasley admonishes.

Ginny rolls her eyes. “I’m 44, Mum. And everyone here’s of age, anyways.”

“Funny,” James chimes in, clearly picturing the moment a few hours ago when she scolded him from the same thing. “You weren’t saying that earlier.”

Ginny redirects her glare towards her son. “Shut it.”

James appropriately cowers a little at that.

“So do we know _why_ the two of them were summoned to the Ministry at this hour?” Ginny asks, turning back to the adult side of the table.

(Technically, I suppose, we’re _all_ adults, but the way we’re sitting makes it feel like our half is the kids’ table. Not to mention that most of us are mediocre at best at actually _being_ adults, anyways.)

“No clue,” Ron answers.

There’s a beat of silence after that - no one really knows how to respond.

“Well, sitting here and twiddling our thumbs won’t solve anything,” Mr. Weasley says resolutely. “But cake… cake will solve things.” 

Somehow, that’s all it takes to restore the mood of the evening back to its former glory; slices of cake get passed down the table and a few more bottles of wine are opened.

 

* * *

 

After dessert and a few drinks, it’s finally collectively decided that it’s getting late and that everyone should start heading home.

As much as I’d love to be the first person out the door – James’ family is absolutely wonderful, but all of them at once can be a bit overwhelming – being the guests of honour means that we’re expected to hang around until the very end

James is apparently impatient to leave as well; he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet as people file through to say goodbye before they Floo back to their respective homes.

“Well done, you two,” Freddy says loudly, coming over and clapping James on the back. “You behaved yourselves and held up your side of the bargain.”

“And at that volume, you’re going to break your side,” I hiss back, even though, at the moment, the only other people in the room are Dom, Victoire, and Ginny.

The last of those three would be slightly more intimidating were it not for the fact that Ginny encountered my entire stash of contraceptive potion when she helped move James’ stuff into our little townhouse, and reacted by sending me a recipe for one that’s effective for longer amounts of time between doses. So needless to say, she’s not unaware of what James and I get up to.

But if Freddy had said anything in front of any other part of his family - _especially_ his grandparents - I might’ve murdered him.

Dom comes over to our little group. “What bargain was held up?”

There’s a beat of silence, at which Freddy looks at me with raised eyebrows. “Well, _I’m_ not allowed to tell her.”

I want to smack him for that – he knows that Dom hates being outside of the joke, so he’s all but forced me to tell her at this point.

I sigh before answering, albeit at a much lower volume than Freddy was talking before. “Well, you know how Freddy arrived here with us? He came by our place beforehand, and when he did, he, er, found James and I in a… compromising position.”

“Shagging on the kitchen table?”

I can’t even find the words to reply; meanwhile, James goes, “How the hell did you know that?”

Dom giggles. “It was just a guess – but apparently a really good one.”

James nudges me. “Hear that? We’re not even married yet and we’ve already turned predictable.”

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to come up with new ways to spice things up,” I reply, looking up at James coyly.

“Oh Godric, I regret making this a topic of conversation,” Freddy interjects, throwing his hands up in the air dramatically.

“Maybe now you’ll actually learn to knock, mate,” James replies, laughing under his breath.

“Knocking is lame,” comes Freddy’s response.

“Common courtesy is what it is,” I snap back.

“Which is also lame.”

Arguing with Freddy is almost always a losing battle – I don’t know why I even bother sometimes.

Dom changes the subject. “We’re still doing drinks tomorrow, Abby, right?”

“Of course,” I respond. “I’m meeting you at that place in Wimbourne?”

“Yep,” she chirps. “And Merlin knows I’ll need a drink, because we’ve got both a workout _and_ a full practice tomorrow.”

All three of us cringe at that.

“Speaking of which, I definitely should be heading back right about now – it’s going to be a really fucking early morning,” she says.

And so she hugs all three of us, goes over to say goodbye her sister, and then disappears through the fireplace in a blaze of green fire.

Now that there’s only a few people lingering, I think it’s finally acceptable for James and I to leave.

It’s only when we’re saying goodbye to Ginny that I realize Harry and Hermione still haven’t come back. Whatever happened that required them to leave dinner tonight must be serious, given that they’ve been at the Ministry for over two hours now.

I suppose I’ll probably end up hearing about it sometime tomorrow at work.

But for now, James and I are finally Flooing home, and it’s not until I’m standing in our living room that I realize just how exhausted I am.

I tell James as much, before walking into the kitchen and putting the tea kettle on.

“Does that mean we’re _not_ picking up where we left off?” James says, coming up behind me and murmuring into my hair.

The unexpectedness of his sudden presence and his warm breath against my neck sends electric shocks down my spine.

Whereas I was dead on my feet a few minutes ago, there’s now a heat coiling in the pit of my stomach that’s somehow more powerful than any previous sense of sleepiness.

I turn around to face him, careful not to bump against the warm stove in the process.

“I suppose I can make an exception for that,” I answer, bringing my arms up around his neck.

That’s apparently all James needed to hear in order to literally pick me up and carry me the three metres or so between where we’re standing and the kitchen table. I make an involuntary noise of surprise when my feet leave the ground, and James laughs at me.

He sets me down on the table, hands travelling under my skirt with a devilish grin. “Now, where were we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 3…
> 
> “... What did you just call them?”
> 
> “Death Eaters 2.0,” Harry repeats.
> 
> “And is that, like, what they’re actually calling themselves?”
> 
> “No. They don’t seem to interested in drawing attention to themselves or giving themselves flashy labels, so we had to come up with something.”
> 
> Al looks at him skeptically. “And... the best thing that you could come up with... was Death Eaters 2.0?”


	3. Complexity #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unspoken hierarchies are difficult to erase, no matter how hard you might try.

I just barely make it to work on time the next day – it turns out that falling asleep on the couch instead of going up to bed like a normal person can majorly throw off a morning routine.

“There’s an urgent all-staff meeting in five minutes,” Aaliyah says, before I’ve even had a chance to set my bag down. “It sounds like some serious shit went down last night.”

“I imagined as much,” I answer, still finishing the last of my coffee out of an Ever Warm travel mug. “Hermione and Harry got called away from dinner last night.”

“It’s still so weird that you call the Minister of Magic by her first name.”

I shrug. “I called her ‘Minister’ the first time I met her, and Rose made fun of me for it. So calling her Hermione is just habit now.”

“Still weird,” Aaliyah reiterates, before grabbing parchment and a quill off her desk.

Once I’ve managed to actually set my things down and get my own writing materials, we set off toward the massive meeting room in the back corner of the Auror department.

If I didn’t already know that this was something serious, the tone of the room would’ve alerted me to that fact. The senior Aurors all have their heads bowed, talking quietly amongst themselves, instead of the general raucous that tends to accompany these massive all-staff meetings.

I take the seat next to Al, who’s staring off into space and distractedly chewing on the end of his quill.

“Morning,” I say casually, and he jumps.

I wonder what has him so zoned out this morning.

“Morning,” he eventually answers back, trying to restore his quill to its original shape.

A few more Aurors filter in, and shut the door behind them.

“I think this is everyone,” Harry says, looking around the magically expanded table.

There’s at least thirty people in the room. Over two-thirds are regular Aurors, the kind that specialize in field work – Albus is one of them. And then there are the eight of us that don’t do field – five senior Aurors and three juniors.

“Last night, over one hundred people were killed in the town square in Upper Flagley.”

In the immediate aftermath of that sentence, I swear you can hear a pin drop in the crowded meeting room.

_One hundred people_. That has to be –

“It’s the largest mass murder of wizards on record,” Harry adds, as if reading my mind (and undoubtedly the minds of everyone else in the room). “We have reason to believe that there was significant magical involvement in the massacre – all of the victims had similar pieces of parchment on them, directing them to this place. Hyslop and Randall were the first on the scene, and they’ve taken these notes into storage. There’s a strong likelihood that they’ve got some sort of compulsion spell on them.”

“Like an Imperius in paper form?” Aaliyah asks, toying with her bright pink quill as she talks.

“The investigative department is going to work with the curse-breaking department to figure out the specifics, but yes, I think so,” Harry answers.

“Do we have any idea who was behind this? Did we make any arrests?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Harry replies. “We have no leads – this was a clean job, and somehow no one knew that all these people were gathered in one place until they were all dead.”

“These people did their work well,” Hyslop adds. “Absolutely nothing traceable, no eyewitnesses, no clear reason why these specific people were targeted.”

“Well, except for one thing,” Harry says. “None of them were purebloods. Which makes us think there was _some_ method in choosing victims.”

“So this is pureblood supremacy stuff again?”

An unidentifiable look crosses Harry’s face. “Perhaps. But also something more. Given the way that this attack was conducted, it seems like the Death Eaters 2.0 were trying to make some sort of statement.”

There’s a very noticeable pause, and it seems Al is the only one who has the courage to break it.

“... What did you just call them?”

“Death Eaters 2.0,” Harry repeats, completely unphased by the looks he’s getting.

Al coughs, and it sounds like he’s trying to resist laughing. “And is that, like, what they’re actually calling themselves?”

“No. They don’t seem to be interested in drawing attention to themselves or giving themselves flashy labels, so we had to come up with something.”

Al looks at him skeptically. “And... the best thing that you could come up with... was Death Eaters 2.0?”

I have to look down at my lap to conceal my laughter.

Harry sighs, obviously a little bit annoyed at being challenged on a group name of all things. “We are an Auror department, not an advertising agency.”

That gets even some of the senior Aurors to snicker.

“Oi,” Harry snaps. “People _died_. Take this seriously, you lot.”

That shuts everyone up.

“I want to say, first and foremost, that _no one_ is allowed to talk to reporters about this,” he continues, acting as if the previous interruption never happened. “I know it’s standard protocol that only department heads talk to press anyways, but I just want to reiterate that given the gravity of this case – we don’t need the _Prophet_ smearing our department or publishing false information.”

And Godric knows how much they love false information.

“And while I obviously want all hands on deck for this case, we still need to be going about our normal work as well. But Hyslop, Randall, Vickers, Greitens, and Winchester – I want the five of you focusing exclusively on this case.”

I’m a bit stunned to hear my name come up on that list – the other four are all senior Aurors. That has to be some sort of oversight.

And apparently I’m not the only one who feels that way.

“With all due respect to Abby,” one of the older members of the investigative department chimes in, “shouldn’t you be putting only senior Aurors on this case, given the stakes?”

“With all due respect, Cresswell,” Harry replies, just as coolly, “I would’ve thought you understood as well as anyone that the junior and senior titles in this department are merely formalities. And if you bothered to pay attention to the work of your junior Aurors, you’d know that Abby’s been researching how to identify the caster of a Killing curse without the wand that casted it – and if there’s any hope of finding these people before anyone else gets hurt, that’s it.”

Cresswell visibly shrinks in his chair, and I feel oddly vindicated.

From the moment I walked into this department, I’ve had to prove myself; I started this job only a few months after it became public knowledge that James and I were dating, and there were naturally rumours that swirled about me only getting the job because of who I was with. Or worse, that I’d only been dating James to get the job in the first place.

And as much as fancy Aurors like to pretend that they’re above petty gossip, there’s no denying that at least some of them believed exactly that.

Somehow, I’ve had to go even farther than Al - the actual son of the department head who could quite literally be the poster child for nepotism if he wasn’t so good at his job - did to prove that he belonged here.

It’s almost definitely because this office is mostly composed of men.

“Now that that’s settled,” Harry continues, “everyone is dismissed, except for the five of you that I already named – I’d like to start combing over some of the finer details of the assignment with you lot.”

The majority of the Aurors stand up and start filing out of the room, leaving me sitting by myself. For all Harry’s talk about rank not mattering, the junior Aurors are essentially expected to sit at the back of the meetings every time – it’s an unspoken hierarchy.

Aaliyah nudges me on her way out, and when I look up at her, she mouths an “atta girl!” and gives me a subtle thumbs up.

When the room settles again, I’m a good five chairs from the closest other Auror assigned to this case. I quickly grab my stuff and move to sit with the cluster.

“Right,” Harry begins, looking around at the five of us, “so, Hyslop and Randall are in the middle of drafting up a detailed report of what they witnessed last night upon arriving to the scene. Once that’s done, they’ll distribute copies to the rest of you – I need everyone at this table to know this case like the back of their hand.”

I dip my quill in an inkpot and start writing – I’m the only person at the table taking notes, but I want all of this as reference for later.

“Vickers, I want you to look at those notes I mentioned and get in contact with some curse-breakers on figuring out what type of magic is behind them.”

The sandy-haired man nods at his directive.

“Greitens and Winchester, I want both of you researching these victims – see if you can figure out what the common thread is between all these people, if there is one at all.”

Merlin. Doing a deep dive into the records of over one hundred different people is going to be a monster of a task. But I nod anyways, making a note of it on my parchment.

“And Abby, I’d also like you to throw together a presentation on any progress you’ve made with that independent research – now that it’s a much more time sensitive matter, it’d be good to get some additional eyes on it.”

I grit my teeth at the use of my first name; I know Harry’s not doing it intentionally, but referring to me so casually when he’s addressed everyone else by last name is one of those little things that always seems to slightly delegitimise my presence here.

But instead, I reply with, “I’ll get right on that.”

“Okay, I think that’s all I’ve got for you lot until Hyslop and Randall get this report filed,” Harry says as he walks out of the room. “Hopefully we’ll be able to get this case closed and shut before anything worse happens.”

I find myself thinking that I’m not sure how things can really get worse than the largest massacre in wizarding history, and almost physically shuddering at the thought.

As we all pack up our things and start to leave the room, Vickers taps me on the shoulder.

“Winchester, would you mind duplicating your notes for the rest of us?”

I bite back a sarcastic response, and instead wordlessly duplicate my own parchment four times. I sincerely hope this is the only time I get turned into the group notetaker - it’s not my job to keep four senior Aurors in line as well.

“Greitens, I’m going to head down to Magical Records and start pulling files,” I say, sounding far more authoritative than I feel in a room with four older men. “I’d appreciate your help with that.”

The man in question looks a little stunned by me taking charge, but acquiesces nonetheless. “Sure, I’ll help.”

So I end up walking side-by-side with Greitens as we travel to the department on the other side of the building - he clearly doesn’t have much to say to me, so the trip is made in relative silence.

When we get off the lift, I see a familiar face, although the person in question doesn’t seem to notice me in return.

Instead, Molly is deep in conversation with the girl behind the desk, who’s in the middle of pulling her platinum blonde hair into a ponytail. I’m pretty sure she’s the new Wizengamot stenographer, but given how rarely I come over to this side of the Ministry, I could be totally wrong. 

I watch as Molly reaches out and grabs a section of hair that the girl missed, adding it to her messy hairstyle as she wraps a hair tie around all of it. I also don’t miss how Molly’s hand lingers there just a little bit longer than it probably should.

I might have to ask her about that one.

 

* * *

 

After an exhausting day of duplicating a ton of files and hauling them all back to the Auror office, I’m desperately in need of a drink or two.

As such, I’m already nursing a cosmopolitan by the time that Dom shows up, dressed so casually in a way that no other person could ever pull off as appropriate for a bar, hair still wet and leaving a trail of water droplets down the front of her English Quidditch League shirt.

“Reynolds is definitely trying to kill all of us before the holidays,” she says as greeting, before flagging down the bartender.

“That bad, huh?”

“He had both me and Rajhi doing target practice for almost five hours,” she replies, then looks at the bartender. “Something strong, please. I don’t care what.”

The bartender smirks at that, but Dom doesn’t notice, because she’s turning back to look at me. “My arms feel like they’re going to fall off.”

“Yeah, sounds like it,” I answer, taking another sip of my drink.

“But enough about my shitstorm of a day, how was yours? Did you find out what happened that got Uncle Harry and Aunt Hermione called away from dinner last night?”

“Yep,” I say, swirling my glass between my fingers. “Over a hundred people were killed in Upper Flagley last night.

“ _Fuck_.”

“My thoughts exactly. And we’ve got no clue who’s behind it.”

The bartender slides Dom some ominous-looking purple drink, and she hands him a few sickles in return. “Double fuck,” she answers, before grabbing a straw and taking a long sip of her drink.

I saw just how many types of alcohol the bartender added to that, so it’s a testament to Dom’s ability to handle her liquor that she doesn’t shudder at the taste.

“And I’m somehow the only junior Auror assigned to the case,” I add.

Dom’s face lights up at that. “That’s my girl!” she says excitedly. “Way to show everyone else up!”

I laugh at that. I don’t necessarily feel like I’ve shown anyone up, especially given that the other four Aurors seem like they’re perfectly content to walk all over me, but her excitement gives me a confidence boost.

As we move from the bar to a booth in the back, I suddenly remember a story that I know Dom will love. “Oh Merlin, but you should’ve seen what happened when Cresswell tried to question my assignment to the case.”

“Let me guess,” she says, looking delighted as we sit across from each other. “Uncle Harry gave him a ton of shit for it.”

“Exactly. I think his exact words were something along the lines of ‘I would’ve thought you of all people would’ve understood that titles in this department are merely a formality.’ ”

“Fucking amazing.”

“Fancy seeing _you_ here, Weasley,” a familiar voice says, and I look up to see Dom’s teammate and co-Beater, walking toward us with a cheeky grin on his face.

“On the other hand, your presence isn’t surprising at all,” Dom quips back, eying the firewhisky on the rocks that Rajhi’s nursing.

“Fair enough,” he concedes, sliding into the booth next to her.

Hassan Rajhi is one of those people that’s basically a stereotype brought to life; he looks and acts like tall, dark, and mysterious personified. His chin-length dark hair is almost always pulled into a bun, he’s constantly wearing some type of leather, and he drinks whisky like it’s his own personal Elixir of Life.

He’s also somehow capable of matching Dom in snark, which is a miracle and in of itself.

Rajhi looks over at me, his eyes settling on the hand delicately holding my drink. “I hear you’ve got some major news.

Honestly, with the major events that have developed today, James and I’s engagement somehow feels like it happened weeks ago, not this past weekend.

“Yep,” I answer, briefly looking down at my ring.

“So,” he says, smirking, “what do I have to do to swing an invite to the biggest wedding of the year?”

Dom looks over at him, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “I don’t know if you’re qualified, Rajhi – it’s such a monumental event, and you’re only a professional Quidditch player.”

He looks back at her. “Sounds like you’re not getting an invite either then.”

“Ah,” Dom shoots back. “But you’ve forgotten that I’ve also got the famous parents thing going for me. Between that and the veela blood, I think I’ve got it in the bag.”

If I didn’t know that these two were teammates, I’d definitely feel like I was third-wheeling right now.

And honestly, even knowing that… they still confuse me.

Although, to be fair, I’ve never played Quidditch. Or any sport. So I’m not really one to know how teammate bonding works, especially at the professional level.

“James and I will see if we can squeeze you in somewhere,” I comment - which also serves as a healthy reminder that there’s a third person sitting here with them.

“That’s all I ask,” he answers, winking at me. I roll my eyes in return.

Rajhi examines his empty glass for a moment, before looking up at us again. “Can I get either of you a refill?”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Dom replies, sliding her empty glass towards him. “Just get me one of whatever Abby got.”

“Cosmopolitan,” I contribute, before he even gets the chance to ask.

He mock-salutes the two of us. “Two excessively girly drinks, coming right up.”

As soon as he’s out of earshot, I look over at Dom. “You’re still positive there’s nothing going on between you two?”

Dom waves me off. “We’re teammates - that would massively fuck things up. Not to mention, I’m not into him like that.”

“Suuuure,” I respond, dragging out the vowel and showing her just how skeptical I am of that statement.

“I’m not!”

“Dominique Weasley,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “I, as an engaged woman, will fully admit that he is drop-dead gorgeous. Do not lie to me and tell me that you don’t agree.”

“He’s my teammate,” she answers, a bit more firmly. “So yes, he’s an incredibly hot piece of ass, but it’s a terrible idea. Not to mention, I’m not looking for anything serious right now anyways, and neither is he.”

I shrug. I get the feeling Rajhi would 100% be looking for something serious if Dom was the one offering.

But instead of saying that, I bite my tongue, and the man in question comes back to the table with our drinks and his own - another glass of firewhisky that definitely has at least three full shots in it.

Dom notices the obscene amount of liquor as well. “You gonna show up to practice hungover again, Rajhi?” she teases. “I can’t have you throwing off my rhythm.”

He responds to that with a cocky smirk in her direction. “You and I both know I play just as well hungover, Weasley.”

He’s not wrong. He was apparently nursing a horrendous hangover during the Arrows game last season, and the _Prophet_ still called it one of his and Dom’s best games yet.

James, ardent Arrows fan that he is, wasn’t too pleased about that one.

“Doesn’t mean it’s healthy,” she retorts.

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves her off. “Anyways, I’ll let you two get back to whatever you were talking about before - see you at practice tomorrow, Weasley.” 

We both wave as he walks away, before returning to our newly refilled drinks and our previous topic of conversation. I intentionally choose not to mention Rajhi again - Dom’s made her stance on that pretty clear.

She probably has a point; I’m no Quidditch expert, but I can definitely imagine that dating a teammate is relatively frowned upon, especially one that you work with as closely as Dom does with Rajhi.

I listen to her talk about Coach Reynolds’ strategies and predictions for the upcoming season, and in exchange I give her as much information as I’m allowed to about the murder case. I’m really only reciting the information that the _Prophet’_ s going to print tomorrow morning, but Dom eats it up nonetheless.

“Merlin, what a combo,” Dom says eventually, laughing. “Solving a massive murder and planning the wedding of the year - you’ve got your work cut out for you, Abby.”

“Oh Godric, I know,” I lament, finishing off the last bit of my drink. “I think James and I are just going to relegate all the wedding planning to the weekends.”

“ ‘James and I’?” she questions. “You’re both planning this? I would’ve thought it’d be all you.”

I shrug. “I mean, James has made it pretty clear that he doesn’t care about a lot of the actual decisions, other than the cake, but he’s definitely going to help _somehow_. I am _not_ throwing this whole thing together myself.”

“Fair enough. Any idea when you’re setting the date?”

“I think we’re probably going to sit down and do the actual planning after the holidays have passed,” I reply. “We don’t really have any free time until then.”

Dom nods. “You’re staying at his parents’ for Christmas, yeah?”

“Yep. And then seeing my dad and Diana for Boxing Day.”

“Another reason I’m glad I’m single,” she says. “Sorting out visiting one set of parents is hard enough, much less two.”

That’s a weak excuse if I’ve ever heard one, but I let her have it.

I look across the bar briefly - just long enough to notice a certain Quidditch player talking to a petite blonde.

Although, I suppose ‘talking’ is a bit of a generous term for the way Rajhi and the random bird he’s with are standing, his hands on her hips as she settles her hands on either side of his jacket collar.

I’m not the only one who notices.

“See? I told you,” Dom says, turning to face me. “Not looking for anything serious, and definitely not into me.” 

But what she doesn’t notice is the way Rajhi’s eyes briefly flit in Dom’s direction before he gives in to the other girl’s kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 4…
> 
> “Thanks,” she replies, not fighting off the full-fledged smile now. “Although I feel like Mum and my brothers will definitely disagree.”
> 
> “Yeah, how exactly do you plan on keeping this one a secret from them for much longer?” I ask, sitting on her bed.
> 
> She shrugs. “I mean, it’s worked for the first few weeks of holidays, so I think it’ll be fine for the next week or so. And once I’ve graduated Hogwarts… well, they can’t really tell me what to do at that point anyways.”
> 
> I doubt that’ll deter Ginny Weasley from giving her a solid dressing-down, but I refrain from saying that out loud.


	4. Complexity #4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some family dynamics don’t always meet the eye.

“You’ve got all the presents in there, right?” James asks, gesturing to the magically-expanded tote bag sitting on the sofa.

“Yep,” I confirm. Although it’d be incredibly easy to Apparate right back here if we forgot something, it’s just better if we can remember everything the first time around.

“Then I think we’re set.”

He doesn’t even let me properly respond to that - he just goes straight into the Floo, leaving me to grab the aforementioned tote before following suit.

James is already yelling when I step out of the Potter’s fireplace. “Mum! Dad! We’re here!”

No one responds immediately, so we settle on taking our stuff up to his room - Ginny and Harry still haven’t remodeled any of their kids’ rooms, despite the fact that two have already moved out, so his room is still the same obnoxiously Gryffindor-coloured space as before.

I set my overnight bag on the floor but hold on to the the gift bag - that’ll go underneath the tree downstairs.

“Tonight’s dinner isn’t about to turn into you, my dad, and Al all talking about work stuff, right?” James asks, pulling on a maroon hoodie.

“I hope not,” I reply. “I’ve spent the past week poring over files, and I’m not even a quarter of the way done - Christmas Eve dinner sounds like a good way to get my mind off of that, if anything.”

“Good,” he answers. “Now let’s go find the rest of my family.”

I follow him out of the room, and he takes my hand when we get downstairs. We don’t even make it five paces forward before the back door flies open, and a very winded Ginny walks in.

“Oh! You two were early!” she says.

“A new one for us,” James replies, grinning.

“You can say that again,” Ginny replies, going into the kitchen and getting a glass of water. “We’ve just been playing a round of Quidditch out back - your father is having  _entirely_  too much fun proving that he can still pull off a Wronski Feint.”

“I’m down for some Quidditch.”

“And I’m down to fly around and watch the rest of you play,” I add.

Nothing has changed since seventh year - I still can’t catch a Quaffle to save my life, and I’m way more content flying around and feeling the wind in my hair than actually playing.

“Let me just put these under the tree,” I say, gesturing to the bag in my arms.

I go ahead and place all the boxes under the tree, adding to the already-significant pile of items. They could probably be arranged better, but there’s time for that later. James is already antsy to go flying, now that the option’s been presented to him.

After snagging both of our brooms from the shed - there’s no point keeping them with us in London, so they have a permanent home at the Potter’s - we both go airborne and join the rest of James’ immediate family.

It’s amazing to me, that flying can come so naturally even when it’s been months since the last time I did it. I guess it’s similar to driving like that.

My attention is suddenly captured by two blurs of dark hair zipping by, and it takes me a moment to realize that said blurs are actually Al and Harry, locked in a dead heat as they chase after what appears to be the Snitch.

Harry only slightly edges out his son in getting his hand around the tiny gold ball,and takes entirely too much pleasure in that fact.

“Ha!” he exclaims victoriously, turning around and flaunting the Snitch in front of his son’s face.

It’s weird, seeing both this version of Harry and the one that runs an entire department of Aurors simultaneously.

“Yeah, whatever,” Al says, trying to act nonchalant about it even though the way he’s got his arms crossed strongly suggests he really feels otherwise. “At least I didn’t try to name a terrorist organization ‘Death Eaters 2.0.’ ”

I get the feeling that Al’s never going to let that one go.

But ‘terrorist organization’ is about right - from the report that Hyslop and Randall put together this week, and our combined mediocre knowledge of Muggle events, this sounds an awful lot like the thing that they describe as terrorism.

It’s a mass event done for no real reason other than to create fear and make a statement.

If only we even knew that statement  _was_.

I shake my head, forcing thoughts of the case out of my mind. I told James I wasn’t going to think about this case for the duration of the holidays - and I don’t want to. I want a nice, happy Christmas where I’m not thinking about detecting Killing Curses and reading endless files about people who’ve died.

“I’ll race you to the edge of the forest!” James yells at me, before taking off and giving himself an entirely unfair head start.

The good fortune of being much smaller than him, though, is that I have a much easier time accelerating - and in a matter of seconds, I’m within an arm’s length of his broom.

I think about actually grabbing on to the back of his broom to slow him down, but instead settle for basically flattening myself against the broom handle and beating him at the very last second, fair and square.

As soon as we both manage to come to a stop, I look at him, smirking. “Cheating gets you nowhere.”

“You’ve got a size advantage,” he argues.

“And yet, you’re the one who challenged me to a race,” I respond, teasing him. “I’d race you back, but I wouldn’t want you to lose again and get your poor ego even more bruised.”

He glares at me. “I’d hate you if I didn’t love you so much.”

“And I love you too, babe,” I say sweetly, before heading off in the direction of where the rest of his family has already landed.

When I get to the ground, Lily’s in the middle complaining about how hot she is.

“There’s a real simple solution to that one, Lils,” her brother says sarcastically. “It’s called taking off your jacket. It feels great out when you’re not wearing five layers.”

Lily huffs in response, before walking inside.

“That was a bit of an overreaction,” Al mutters, watching her walk away.

“You should know better than to be surprised by that,” James says, having landed right next to me. “Hey, where’s Cecile?”

“She’s dealing with a few last-minute things at the greenhouses,” Al replies. “Flowers don’t seem to understand the concept of holidays, so she still has to go back and check on them even on Christmas Eve.”

Cecile has somehow landed a position working at a magical greenhouse just outside of London that specializes in growing potions ingredients. And somehow, she got lucky and only has to work with the tamest possible plants - mostly flowers and herbs.

But she’s also said that she’d love to work with something more robust - she did a whole project on Venomous Tentacula in her seventh year, apparently, and finds them fascinating. Which I don’t understand at all - why would you willingly work with a plant that’s out to kill you?

Although, I suppose, I work in the Auror department. I don’t have much room to talk.

And sure enough, Cecile turns up less than half an hour later, a massive array of poinsettias in her hands and another two stuck in her hair.

 

* * *

 

Christmas morning is wonderful - I find myself thinking that seven is just about the perfect number of people to share the holiday with. It’s no Weasley-Potter group event, but it’s also not just me and my mother, like so many Christmases before this were.

James gets me a lovely collection of vintage books - which isn’t surprising at all, because I’d literally given him a list of what I wanted, and these were at the top of the list. Dom sends us box seats for the Arrows and Wasps exhibition game in a few weeks - I hand the attached note to James, laughing at the annoyed expression he makes when he reaches the end of it, where Dom had written,  _Looking forward to crushing your team yet another year - Huxley’s got nothing on us._

But the most stunning gift of all is from Harry and Ginny: a simple sheet of parchment with just the words ‘ _your honeymoon_ ’ on it.

James breaks our collective stunned silence first. “Does this mean… what I think it means?”

“Your mother and I thought you two might like not having to factor that into the wedding expenses,” Harry replies, wrapping his arm around Ginny as he talks.

“Once you two set the wedding date, we can start talking destinations,” she adds.

“Holy  _shit_ ,” is James’ eloquent response.

“This is amazing, thank you guys,” I say, getting up off the couch that James and I are sitting on in order to hug both of my future in-laws.

“It’s our pleasure,” Harry says. “If anyone deserves a nice, stress-free week in a destination of your choice, it’s you two.”

As I’ve started to realise how much planning has to go into a wedding that’s bound to be obsessively covered by the papers, I’m inclined to agree with him on that one.

The last present I open isn’t actually a present at all; instead, it’s an unfamiliar owl tapping on the window.

I retrieve the letter that it’s holding, before sitting back on the couch next to James and tearing the envelope open with my fingernail.

 

_Abby,_

_Happy Christmas! (At least, I hope this reaches you before Christmas, but honestly, transatlantic mail is so unreliable that I wouldn’t be surprised if I got home before this does.)_

_Oh. Shit. I guess I accidentally spoiled my own surprise. But yeah, I’m coming home. For good this time. The department offered me a stable position in London doing diplomatic outreach, and, as much as I’ve liked being abroad… I miss home, and my mum and Holly, and all of you._

_As of early January, I’ll be back in London. Let’s catch up when I get there, yeah? Letters can only communicate so much, and I’ve got so many stories for you._

_All my love,_

_Caroline_

_P.S.: Tell your fiancé that he’s a prat for not telling me he was proposing in advance and leaving me to find out via a headline. (Yes, your engagement somehow even made news here in the States. Congratulations on being famous, I guess.)_

 

“You’re a prat, apparently, but we all knew that,” I say as soon as I finish reading the letter.

“What did I do!?” James replies, scandalised, even as the rest of his family starts laughing.

Instead of actually answering him, I pass the letter to him.

“Caroline’s moving back?” he asks, as soon as he finishes skimming the note. “That’s great - I have to tell Freddy!”

“Or,” I say, looking at him reproachfully, “you could let Caroline tell him herself, given their history. He has a right to find out from her and she has a right to be the person that tells him.”

James frowns. “Okay, yeah, you have a point.”

“Abby, I swear to Merlin,” Ginny interrupts, “whatever you’ve done to James over the years - I’m impressed. I raised the damn child and I  _still_  can’t get him to admit I was right about everything.”

“You weren’t right about everything,” James defends, further proving that he’s the most ridiculously stubborn person on the planet about the dumbest possible things. “You told me I’d get myself killed if I tried to weave around trees on my Firebolt, and I only broke my shoulder.”

I look over at him, a ‘what-on-earth’ expression clearly evident on my face. “Of  _all_ the possible examples you could’ve gone with, you picked  _that one_?”

He meets my eyes. “And I stand by it.”

“You’re actually an idiot.”

“Well then you’re an idiot for marrying me,” he shoots back, his face now so close to mine that I’m awfully tempted to kiss him just to get him to shut up.

“You’re both idiots, we get it,” Al says loudly, sending the whole family into a fit of giggles again.

 

* * *

 

After all the presents have been unwrapped and we’ve finally forced ourselves to do something other than lounge around in the living room, I gather all my new gifts and take them up to James’ room.

As I’m walking down the hallway to go back downstairs, I pass by Lily, who suddenly all but grabs me by the arm and drags me into her room.

She shuts the door behind her and looks at me seriously. “If I tell you something, can you swear on Dumbledore not to tell my parents?”

I have absolutely no idea what I’m about to get myself into, but I agree anyways.

Instead of answering with words, Lily responds by pulling her jumper over her head, leaving her standing there in just her bra.

It takes me all of five seconds to realize just what she’s referring to. Across the skin of her left shoulder and halfway down her arm is massive array of flowers. The petals flutter lightly as she moves, almost as if they’ve actually been disturbed by her movement.

“I did them myself,” she says, looking a bit like she’s fighting off a grin. “Cecile’s already in on it - she sent me a ton of pressed flowers to use as templates for the design.”

I’m completely stunned - the level of detail is incredible, as is the fact that there’s not a single spot of ink out of place. I can’t believe she did this herself… in her Hogwarts dormitory of all places.

“Lily, that’s amazing,” I tell her. I don’t think I’ll ever get a tattoo - moving or otherwise - but I can certainly admire the level of artistry that went into this.

“Thanks,” she replies, not fighting off the full-fledged smile now. “Although I feel like Mum and my brothers will definitely disagree.”

“Yeah, how exactly  _do_  you plan on keeping this one a secret from them for much longer?” I ask, sitting on her bed.

She shrugs. “I mean, it’s worked for the first few weeks of holidays, so I think it’ll be fine for the next week or so. And once I’ve graduated Hogwarts… well, they can’t really tell me what to do at that point anyways.”

I doubt that’ll deter Ginny Weasley from giving her a solid dressing-down, but I refrain from saying that out loud.

“And I think… I think this is what I want to do post-Hogwarts,” Lily adds, looking a bit nervous. “I still haven’t told anyone that yet, but I - I’d so much rather do art like this for other people all day than spend my life sitting at a desk at the Ministry.”

A magical tattoo artist. Now  _that’s_  an interesting career choice.

“Well,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “if this is what you’re able to do to yourself, I’ve got no doubt you’ll be great at it.”

She grins. “Thanks.”

“But Lily,” I add, unable to bite back the more sensible part of my thought process, “have you actually, you know, properly looked into it? Is that actually something you can make a living off of?”

“Oh Merlin, you’re worse than Al about all this career bullshit,” Lily replies, rolling her eyes. “Everyone always seems to think I don’t know how to look after myself. Yes, I’m smart enough to have looked into this shit - there are places all over England that do this type of work, and sure, I wouldn’t make as much money as you or Al or James in your fancy fucking office jobs, but I’d be doing something I love, and that matters so much more to me than some extra Galleons in my pocket.”

Lily’s a bit flushed by the time that she’s finished ranting, and I realise that this is definitely a reaction to being babied by her brothers for so long. And they do it out of the best possible intentions, but I suppose if I had siblings constantly expecting me to make mistakes and lecturing me about it, I’d be pretty annoyed about it as well.

I take a breath. “Then good for you,” I say, with as much sincerity behind it as I can muster. “That’s important, finding something you love.”

I’m unintentionally reminded of James, who still gets absolutely no pleasure out of the work he’s doing. I don’t want that for Lily.

Her expression softens. “Thank you. I just… I’m so excited about this, and I hate when people immediately start talking about how unrealistic it is.”

I just nod.

“I mean, we’re a family of unrealistic people,” she continues, bordering on laughter. “My dad cheated death twice - I hardly think me trying to turn drawing on other people into a career is the craziest thing any of us have done.”

I let out a short laugh. “You’ve… got a point with that one.”

“So… secret?” she asks, holding out a pinky to me, as if this is some childhood promise on a primary school playground.

“Secret,” I answer, linking fingers with her. “But if you won’t tell your parents, at least tell your brothers. And tell them what you’ve told me. They might be more understanding that you might think.”

I’m thinking of James in particular when I say that.

“Okay, I’ll think about it,” she replies, before grabbing her jumper and pulling it back on. “Now come on, if we get downstairs before Mum puts the Christmas cookies in the oven we can probably steal a little bit of the dough.”

I laugh at her sudden change of pace, and, even though I’m not all that interested in cookie dough myself, I follow her down the stairs and back into the hubbub of the Potter household.

I don’t tell her this, but it means a lot to me that she’s trusted me with something that clearly matters so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m working on this story as my NaNo rebel project this month, which means I’m actually quite a few chapters ahead of schedule. As such, I’m actually going to post a chapter next Saturday instead of waiting two weeks, because I’ve got it ready and I’m excited about it.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 5…
> 
> James’ expression suddenly shifts into one of overdramatic shock. “Shit, that wasn’t supposed to happen - I’m going to need you to give me that ring back so we can return to our normal existence of being late for everything and forgetting how to do basic household spells.”
> 
> “No way, you can’t take it back now,” I tease, waving my left hand in front of his face.
> 
> “I can try.”
> 
> And with that, James makes to grab for my hand, and instead wraps his hand around my wrist. I attempt to squirm out of it, which only serves to almost knock me out of my chair.


	5. Complexity #5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planning a wedding feels a lot like going to war.

The next evening finds James and I sitting in a fancy Muggle restaurant, waiting on my dad and Diana to arrive. I’m studying the wine menu intently, trying to find a bottle that’ll meet my father’s incredibly high standards.

“You do realize,” James says, looking up from his menu, “that this is now two family events in a row that we’ve been on time for. That has to be a new record for us.”

I laugh at that, and decide on a bottle - that is, coincidentally, also the most expensive on the menu. Oh well - I’m not paying for it, after all.

“What do you know, engagement is bringing out a responsible streak in us,” I reply.

James’ expression suddenly shifts into one of overdramatic shock. “Shit, that wasn’t supposed to happen - I’m going to need you to give me that ring back so we can return to our normal existence of being late for everything and forgetting how to do basic household spells.”

“No way, you can’t take it back now,” I tease, waving my left hand in front of his face.

“I can try.”

And with that, James makes to grab for my hand, and instead wraps his hand around my wrist. I attempt to squirm out of it, which only serves to almost knock me out of my chair.

“Ahem,” I hear someone clear their throat. “The remaining half of your party is here.”

I instantly feel myself flush; we’re in a nice restaurant, of all places, and we’re acting like children. James apparently feels at least somewhat similarly, because he drops my hand and adopts a sheepish expression.

Diana, it seems, doesn’t feel that same level of shame though. “You two are adorable - I’m so happy for you both.”

My dad claps James on the back as he sits down. “If you keep managing to make her this happy, I think married life will treat the two of you just fine.”

James smiles, looking relieved that my dad and stepmum don’t have the same level of disdain for our behaviour as the waitstaff did. “I’m doing my best.”

It’s been almost incredible to see how much more involved in my life that Dad has gotten since he married Diana; I have no idea if she talked to him, or what happened - but somewhere in the summer after my seventh year, he stopped doing the whole ‘elusive parent who tries to buy my love’ thing. At one point, he actually took James and I out to lunch in order to ‘properly meet my boyfriend’ - and somehow, the two of them hit it off and it’s been remarkably smooth sailing ever since.

The same can’t be said for my mother, but I suppose you can’t win every battle.

“So Abby,” Dad says, turning to me, “what’s going on with this mass murder that the Prophet’s been talking about? I’m assuming the Auror department is handling it?”

“We’re doing our best,” I answer. Even if I wanted to give more information than that, I’m not really allowed to. Everything that the public’s allowed to know has already been printed in the  _Prophet_.

“What Abby’s not telling you,” James adds, as I briefly worry where he’s going with this, “is that she’s the youngest Auror assigned to the case.”

It sounds so glamorous when put that way, when the reality is that I still can’t get any of the senior Aurors to listen to me in our meetings. That one instance of bringing Greitens with me to fetch files is the sole moment of authority I’ve had in that group in the past week.

But I haven’t told James that.

As much as I trust him, I also get the feeling he’d go straight to his dad if I told him about the weird dynamics of the Auror department, and I really don’t want Harry sweeping in on my behalf. This is something I need to handle myself, if I’m ever going to get anyone to properly respect me.

“That’s incredible,” Diana says, reaching over to place her hand on my shoulder. “I told you all your hard work would pay off soon!”

“Yeah,” I reply, forcing a smile.

“But on a less somber note, have you two started wedding planning yet?”

James laughs. “Not even a little bit.”

“We’re going to start soon - we’ve just been so busy with the holidays and work and all that,” I add.

We really do need to pick a damn date soon though so that people can finally stop asking about it. I make a mental note that that’s what I want to tackle first thing tomorrow morning.

“Well if you need any help,” Diana replies, “I’m just an owl away - I planned our whole wedding myself, and that one went pretty well if I do say so myself.”

Unlike Hermione’s offer of her massive planning binders, which are just entirely too detailed for me to even think about, I actually might take Diana up on her offer.

“Oh yes, we’ll definitely be taking you up on that,” I reply, as our waiter comes by with the bottle of wine I’d originally ordered.

Diana claps her hands together in delight. “Oh, it’ll be full circle, won’t it? You brought James to our wedding as your date, and now you’re getting married!”

I have to fight back a laugh. I’m pretty sure Diana doesn’t know the full story of that night - of how James was only supposed to be there as a friend until we’d mucked things up a week prior, how he spent the whole night backing away from saying anything while I tried to decipher his weird behavior, and how we didn’t even get together until long after the actual wedding had ended.

But in her mind, their wedding was our fairytale beginning. And I’ll let her have that.

“This wine is incredible,” my dad says, changing the subject as he swirls his glass. “You two did a great job picking this one out.”

“That was all Abby,” James replies, grinning. “I still can’t tell the difference between a cabernet and a merlot.”

“Of which this is neither,” I say. “It’s French.”

He laughs. “That still gives me no indication of what I’m drinking. But it does taste good.”

“We’re going to up your wine game someday,” I tell him, patting his hand in an almost-patronising manner. “You can’t survive on firewhisky for the rest of your life.”

“On the contrary, I think that’s quite possible.”

“Just wait until your late twenties, when you start actually getting real hangovers from drinking liquor,” my dad chimes in, chuckling to himself. “You’ll become a real wine snob then.”

“The day that my favourite pleasure in the whole world turns against me will be the worst day of my life,” James replies solemnly.

 

* * *

 

The next morning finds me clutching a large cup of coffee, hair tied up in a bun, and ready to finally get down to the business that James and I have been putting off for the past week.

“Okay,” the co-planner in question says, sitting down at the kitchen table, “we’re planning a wedding.”

The business-like look on his face and various papers spread out on the table makes it look a lot more like we’re preparing to go to war.

I suppose, in a sense, the amount of work we’ve got ahead of us  _is_ a battle of sorts.

I’ve attempted to put together a full list of all the decisions that have to be made for this whole wedding to go on, and honestly, looking at it has me slightly tempted to just elope and make that the end of things.

But I also know myself well enough to know I’d  _never_ go through with that, no matter how tempting. I want that perfect day, even if it means we have to work through the world’s longest to-do list to get there.

So I look James in the eye and confirm it: “We’re planning a wedding.”

After a good deal of back and forth, we finally settle on a date - a weekend in late August that miraculously fits with Dom’s Quidditch schedule, the fact that Lucy and Hugo still have to go back to Hogwarts in September, and everyone else’s hectic work schedules.

“Now that we’ve got that settled,” James says, finishing off the last of his coffee, “I suppose we should probably get to work on making the actual guest list.”

“Yeah, that seems like the best course of action,” I confirm, walking into the kitchen to find a Quick Quotes Quill in one of the drawers.

“Well, first off, I guess we should sort out your bridesmaids and my groomsmen and all that shit.”

“That’s easy enough for me,” I reply, and the charmed quill gets to work on transcribing all of our words on the blank piece of parchment. “Dom’s the maid of honour, and then… Caroline, Molly, Amelie, and Lily for the other bridesmaids.”

I pause to tally that up in my head. “Five’s a nice solid number for that, right? Or, I guess, how many people were you thinking? It’d be nice if it were equal - you know, for symmetry and all that.”

James ruffles up his hair, deep in thought. “Well, there’s Teddy, Al, Freddy, Simon, and Alec. So… yeah, five works.”

“Which one of those is the best man?”

“That’s the part I can’t figure out,” James replies, looking a bit guilty. “I was best man for both Al  _and_ Teddy, and I’ll probably be Freddy’s, whenever  _that_ happens, so… I don’t know. I feel bad picking just one of them.”

He’s right to be struggling; that  _is_  a tricky decision. Al’s his biological brother, Teddy’s as good as, and Fred’s his best friend  _and_  cousin. A really solid argument could be made for choosing any of them.

“I think you pick the one who’d be most hurt if you didn’t pick them,” I eventually respond.

It’s not the most solid advice, but I don’t know what else James could do in this situation. It’s not really a question of who deserves the title, because they all do in their own ways, so the next most logical thing is to look at who’d care about it the most.

He nods, seemingly taking that advice to heart as he starts to think about it further. “I honestly doubt Al would care either way. And Freddy… well, honestly, as long as we let him make a speech at the reception, I think he’ll be good.”

“Oh Merlin,” I say, dropping my head into my hands. “He’s going to absolutely make fun of us to no end for an entire five-minute speech, isn’t he?”

James laughs. “Yeah, that sounds about like what I’d expect from Freddy. We can try and make sure that he doesn’t say anything  _too_ scandalous though - I think he’ll probably at least be somewhat amenable to that, given that whatever’s said at this stupid wedding will probably somehow make it onto the front page of the  _Prophet_.”

Planning a wedding would be so much less exhausting if I didn’t have to worry about what the entire English wizarding community (and apparently some of the international one, if Caroline is to be believed) thinks about it.

“So that’s it, then?” I ask, switching back to the actual topic at hand. “Teddy’s the best man?”

James nods, seemingly confident in his decision. “Yeah.”

“In that case, I suppose we should work on owling all of them sooner rather than later - especially Alec, who’s going to have to schedule a trip back from Greece for this.”

It strikes me that I’m pretty sure Dom and Alec haven’t seen each other since graduating; that’s bound to bring up some sort of strange dynamic, but I don’t think there’s any way we can avoid that one.

From there, we get to work on building the rest of the guest list, which is already looking like it’s going to be massive - James’ whole family alone is like six inches worth of parchment.

As we finish listing off all of his family members, James looks up at me, eyebrows knitted together. “Are we inviting your mum?”

“I… don’t know,” I answer lamely. “I mean, she’s my mother, so it makes sense that she’s invited to my wedding. But I just… I don’t need any more drama than necessary, and she always seems to bring that with her.”

“Fair enough,” James shrugs. “I’m letting you be the decision-maker on this one; you know how I feel about her, but if you want her there, then invite her.”

James’ first impression of my mother was wholly consumed by the stunt she pulled around my father’s wedding - threatening to cut me out of her life if I attended - and it’s safe to say that his opinion of her has yet to be improved at any point since then.

“I’ll put her down as a maybe for now,” I say, watching as a question mark appears on the parchment next to her name. “If I invite her, the invitation is coming with a strongly worded letter about staying far away from Dad and Diana, and not getting herself into some sort of strop about something ridiculous.”

“Probably for the best.”

We continue to rattle off names and the Quick Quotes Quill continues to work its way down the impressively long parchment, to the point that I have to shove a new piece under the current one to stop the Quill from continuing the list on our table.

“Oh fuck, and we have to plan for plus ones, don’t we?” James says, looking a bit intimidated by the fact that the list has suddenly expanded even more.

“You’re right, I forgot about that one,” I say, knocking the Quick Quotes Quill out of the way as I start to manually write in “+1” next to people’s names with my own quill.

Whether by fate or just by nature of my hand getting exhausted, I find myself hovering over ‘Fred Weasley’ when a thought occurs to me.

“What’s the probability that Fred and Caroline are back together by July?”

James looks up at me. “Oh, they definitely will be. They don’t need a plus one, I guarantee they’ll be each other’s.”

“That seems a little presumptuous though, doesn’t it? Like, I completely agree with you - I’ll be completely shocked if they’re not back together at that point, but if we tell them that… I feel like it’ll jinx things?”

He thinks on that for a moment. “Yeah, you’re right. If there’s anything that both of them hate, it’s being told what to do.”

After another pause, he continues. “Here’s what we do. We send them invites that allow them a plus one, but don’t include it in our own calculations - we both know they’ll definitely be each other’s wedding dates, but we don’t have to tell  _them_ that.”

I’m kind of impressed with his sneaky thought process on that one.

“Brilliant,” I reply, and skip past both his and Caroline’s names on the list.

“I am known to have those moments every once in a while.”

“Rare, but I suppose they happen.”

James looks up at me, hand clasped over his heart in mock offense. “Rude.”

“Oh, come off it,” I say, abandoning the list again and walking over to his side of the table. “You should hardly be surprised that I’m giving you a hard time - you’ve had to deal with it for… what? Three years now?”

“If we’re talking time since we first shagged, then yeah, just a touch over three years,” he replies, turning sideways in his chair and smirking at me.

I swat his shoulder. “I was referring to when we started becoming friends, not  _that_.”

“Hey,” James defends, “it’s an important milestone. We never would’ve gotten here without it.”

I step into the space between his legs, one of my hands moving to toy with his hair. “I mean, yeah. I would’ve been married to Blaise and miserable, and you would’ve been… without me, and therefore also miserable.”

“You’re awfully confident in how necessary you are to my happiness.” One of James’ hands settles on my hip. “But… I suppose you’re not entirely wrong. Seventh year  _was_ kind of miserable before you.”

There’s a pause, and then James looks up at me, eyes displaying all kinds of vulnerability. “This isn’t going to change anything, is it? All this wedding planning madness? We’ll still be us, yeah?”

I look at the papers spread across the table, including the massive to-do list that’s only been slightly dented at this point.

But despite all of that, I have faith that we’re a million times stronger than a little pre-wedding stress. We’ve weathered so much worse.

“Yeah, we’ll still be us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact - this last scene where Abby and James are picking out their bridesmaids and groomsmen is the very first scene I dreamt up when I started planning this sequel. And somehow it turned into an entire novel. Idk.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 6…
> 
> At that, Molly’s cheeks colour.
> 
> “Ooh,” Amelie chimes in. “Are you replacing us?”
> 
> I wave that off. “Molly could never replace us. But if I didn’t know any better, I’d definitely say that was flirting.”
> 
> “Was not!” Molly immediately protests, flushing even further. “She’s just really sweet and interesting and pretty and - stop looking at me like that.”


	6. Complexity #6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You never know what might happen in those last hours of the year.

Perhaps one of the worst things about transitioning from school to the real world is discovering that you no longer get three weeks off for the holidays; instead, you get a few days. Maybe a week if you're lucky.

And I'm not lucky. An added bonus of being assigned to a massive case is that I'm not supposed to take any more days off than absolutely necessary. And unfortunately, lounging around the house with my fiancé hardly qualifies as 'absolutely necessary.'

So that's how I find myself back at work just three short days after Christmas, back in the routine of poring through records of the people who were killed, praying that some hidden link miraculously appears.

It's not fun work. There's a special kind of horror in reading about the three-year-old child of someone you know to be dead.

As a result, I'm more than ready to get out of the office come lunchtime. And it seems that Molly is too, because she shows up in the Auror office a few minutes ahead of schedule.

It's a fun little tradition we've started, these weekly lunches between Molly, Amelie, and me. We're so busy otherwise that it's often hard to see each other elsewhere, but since we're all on work schedules that mandate a midday lunch break, we've made it a habit to see each other every week. It's nothing like sharing every single meal with them, the way we did at Hogwarts, but it's at least something.

I quickly mark my place in the file I've been reading so we can leave.

"So, how were your holidays?" Molly asks as soon as we're out of the eerily quiet Auror office.

"Pretty good," I reply. "I got a honeymoon as a Christmas present."

"Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny?" When I nod, she adds, "I wonder if James planned his proposal around Christmas on purpose for that reason."

"I think that's probably a bit above his stealth levels."

"Fair enough," Molly says. "James is a bit too transparent to have any secret motives like that."

"So, how were  _your_ holidays? You went to see your mum's family in Edinburgh, yeah?"

"Yeah. It was nice - a bit cold, especially when it was decided that we should go hiking as a family outing, but nice nonetheless."

"That's good," I reply, around the same time that we reach the massive row of fireplaces in the Ministry lobby. "We're just doing Leaky for lunch, yeah?"

"Yep," she answers, before grabbing Floo powder and disappearing in a flash of green.

 

* * *

 

 

The Leaky Cauldron is a bit crowded during the lunch hour, but we manage to snag a booth that's just large enough for the three of us.

I briefly wonder if Caroline might start joining us on these outings when she gets back, since she'll also be working at the Ministry. I don't voice that one out loud though, because I don't know how many other people know, and, as I've already told James, it doesn't feel like my news to tell.

"So, what's new in your lives?" Molly asks, looking between the two of us.

"We just got a new batch of interns," Amelie replies. "It's weird - it's the first time we've gotten new interns and I  _haven't_ been an intern."

"So now you've actually got some authority over them?"

"I can't tell you how nice it is to have someone to shove the worst of my rounds onto," she says. "I mean, I don't do it often - I'm fresh enough off being an intern myself to know how much it sucks to be stuck cleaning bedpans for hours, but it's nice to do every once in a while."

"Are they at least better than the last batch?"

Amelie shrugs. "Thus far, they're at least somewhat more competent. I swear to Merlin, I don't know how some of last term's interns passed their NEWTs."

"Well, that's good at least," I reply.

Molly turns to me. "And what about you, Abby? How's life?"

I take a deep breath. This should bridge nicely into the main thing I have to ask both of them today. "Well, James and I are already up to our noses in wedding planning."

"Oof, I bet," Amelie replies, giving me a sympathetic look.

"But on that note, I had something of an important question for the two of you," I say. "James and I spent most of yesterday picking a date and making the guest list and all of that, so I'd really like to know - would you two be my bridesmaids?"

The shriek that escapes Amelie's mouth makes even the people at the opposite side of the restaurant jump and look over in our direction.

"Merlin, yes!"

"I would love to!"

I beam at the both of them. I honestly didn't expect either of them to say no, but their enthusiasm is exciting nonetheless.

"Just, pick a good colour for the dresses, yeah?" Molly adds, looking a bit more solemn. "I don't want it to clash with my hair."

I match her look with an equally serious one of my own. "Molly. Think about who you're talking to. If there's ever anyone who you can trust with making sure that things don't clash, it's me."

Molly laughs at that. "Damn, you're right - I really should've realised I'm talking to the most fashion-conscious person I know."

We're interrupted by the arrival of our food. The conversation all but comes to a complete halt as we each dig in to our lunch; I'm not sure about Molly and Amelie, but I'm absolutely famished, and therefore chips take priority over conversation.

Eventually, I use that extended silence as a way to change the subject to something I've actually been curious about for a couple days now. "So, Molly, I heard the Wizengamot has a new stenographer?"

If Molly catches the sly look in my eyes as I say that, she doesn't react to it. "Yeah, we do - her name's Zara. She just moved here from Norway."

"Yeah, you looked awfully friendly with her when I saw the two of you the other day."

Molly crinkles her eyebrows. "When did you see the two of us?"

I can't help but laugh at that. "My point exactly. I came down to your floor to go to the Magical Records department, and you two were incredibly deep in conversation."

At that, Molly's cheeks colour.

"Ooh," Amelie chimes in. "Are you replacing us?"

I wave that off. "Molly could never replace us. But if I didn't know any better, I'd  _definitely_ say that was flirting."

"Was not!" Molly immediately protests, flushing even further. "She's just really sweet and interesting and pretty and -  _stop looking at me like that_."

Amelie smirks at her. "See, you started that sentence by saying that you weren't flirting, but the end of it was telling a very different story."

"I just - I'm  _confused_. I've never actually thought I was into girls, but now… I don't know. Am I?"

"That doesn't sound like a question either of us can answer," I say. "But if you must know, from what I saw, she was definitely flirting back, so if you decide you're into it, I'd say go for it."

Molly pauses for a moment, looking like she's deep in thought about something. "I'll think about it."

Amelie reaches over and pats her on the back. "Atta girl."

 

* * *

 

 

"Am I sparkly enough?" I ask James, looking away from the mirror and towards where he's laying on the bed, arms behind his head.

"That doesn't sound like a question I'm qualified to answer," he responds. "I feel like Dom would be a more reliable source on that one."

"Even though I agree with you on that, Dom's not here. So I'm using my available resources."

James looks me up and down. "Well, your dress is sparkly, your shoes are sparkly, you just finished putting glitter around your eyes, and I'm pretty sure there's glitter in your hair too. Considering I'm probably going to find glitter on  _my_ body for the next month after this, I'd say yes, you're definitely sparkly enough."

I grin at him. "Perfect. Now let's go - we're running late."

"Hmm, I wonder why," he retorts, getting up and straightening out his shirt.

"I'm just trying to keep us on brand," I reply. "Now let's get over to Freddy's flat before he starts this party without us."

"You and I both know Freddy well enough to know he would've started the party without us even if we  _were_ on time."

I shrug. "Good point."

He takes my hand, and almost instantly I feel that familiar pull in my stomach. When I open my eyes, we're in the alleyway by Freddy's complex.

And sure enough, when we get up to Freddy's flat on the seventh floor, he's already got the champagne popped and music blasting through the living room.

"Well, if it isn't everyone's favourite never-timely couple!" he cries when he sees us. He's wearing a pair of glasses in the shape of the year 2026, and holding a glass of something that's definitely a little stronger than champagne.

"Not my fault this time," James replies, quickly getting his hands on the nearest bottle of firewhisky.

"So no shagging on the kitchen table this time?"

James scoffs. "Have you  _seen_ her makeup? There's no way it would still look that good if we'd just had sex right before coming here."

I feel an odd rush of affection for him at that.

Once I've got a drink in hand, I split off from James in search of Dom, who is, predictably, as equally decked out in sparkles as I am.

"Best holiday of the year," she says, as soon as we're close enough to talk over the music.

"Don't you know it," I smile back at her, clinking our champagne glasses against each other.

"Alright, it's drinking game time!" Freddy yells, before realizing that it would be a million times more effective to just turn down the music and speak at a normal volume.

"What are we going with this time?" Simon asks. I have no idea when he walked in - I don't remember seeing him when James and I first got here. He's standing next to Louis; the two of them are surprisingly amicable given that they're each other's ex-boyfriends.

"Not truth or dare," Molly says immediately. "I don't know if anyone  _else_  remembers watching James give a lap dance, but it's unfortunately burned into my retinas and I really don't need yet  _another_  mentally scarring image of one of my cousins."

I throw my head back laughing at that; discovering that James can somehow give a lap dance at the same caliber as a professional stripper was probably the highlight of last year's New Year's party, at least for me.

Although I'm probably biased in that assessment, given that I very publicly snogged him as soon as he finished.

We're still in the middle of debating what drinking game to play when a Knut lands in my champagne glass.

I look up to find Rose raising her fist victoriously, obviously pleased that she hit her mark.

I'm still not entirely sure who proposed the idea, but at some point during one of our post-graduation parties, someone decided that we should adopt the Muggle concept of 'pennying,' which means that any time you manage to land a coin in someone else's drink, they're forced to chug it.

As someone with very average aim who's often surrounded by a bunch of former Quidditch players, I absolutely hate it.

But I'm a good sport nonetheless, so I drain my glass and hold on to the Knut, waiting for a good time to aim it at someone else.

"I'm going to go refill this," I say, not holding back my glare in Rose's direction, "and when I come back, I'm sincerely hoping you lot will have come to a decision about what we're playing."

The threat works, because when I come back into the room with a newly topped off glass, everyone's sitting on the couch as Freddy uses his wand to shuffle a deck of playing cards.

"What are we playing?" I ask James, as I sit in the space next to him on the couch.

"Ring of Fire," he replies, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me in to his side.

Oh, Merlin save us all. Last time we played this game, it didn't really end well for anyone - particularly Amelie, who kept getting stuck on the wrong end of a waterfall and didn't even make it to the bar that night.

We're about halfway through the deck when I turn to whisper in James ear. "Can you do me a favour?"

"Depends on what it is."

I surreptitiously slide the Knut from earlier into James' hand. "Land this in Rose's glass please?"

James chuckles under his breath. "I'm on it."

And sure enough, two cards later, James sends the coin flying, and it hits its target perfectly.

Rose looks up from her glass to find me smirking at her, before narrowing her eyes. "Not fair. You used your Quidditch-playing fiancé to make that shot."

"I mean, it still counts, regardless of who threw it," I retort, grinning. "Not to mention, you've got a Quidditch-playing boyfriend at your disposal as well."

Rose just rolls her eyes good-naturedly, before downing the contents of her glass.

 

* * *

 

 

Even though we're all decidedly plastered by 10 pm, the decision is still made to ring in the New Year at an actual bar, so we put ourselves together as best we can and head to The Augurey.

The club in question is, predictably, packed, and it's only because of our annoying half-celebrity status that we're able to avoid the line going out of the building and beeline straight for the bouncers.

Notoriety is good for  _something_ , at least.

The inside of the club is all loud music and flashy lights - and despite the aforementioned drunkenness, we all head straight to the bar to get yet another round.

The bartender on duty tonight - Dave - knows our drink orders without even having to ask. That probably says something about us spending just a touch too much time here, but that's a concern best left to another day.

In addition to our usual drinks, he also doles out fourteen shot glasses full of something smoking and shimmering, and, for some reason, not one of us questions the unknown contents of the glasses.

It doesn't taste terrible, but  _Merlin_ , it's strong.

"What was that?" James asks, as he collects the stray shot glasses and slides them back to Dave.

"It's the bar's New Year's special," he answers. "It's got a drop of a rip-off of Liquid Luck, plus a shit ton of alcohol. A guaranteed good time."

James grins. "Wicked."

As the night wears on, our group gradually spreads out. I find myself leaning against a different part of the bar, chatting with Roxanne about her seventh year.

"Oh god, and the Head Boy is a pain in the  _ass_ ," she laments, draining the last of her glass. "I mean, he's not as bad as the shitstorm Rose had to put up with last year, but he's just - he's such a fucking stick in the mud."

I laugh. "Isn't that kind of the point of being Head Boy and Girl?"

She just shrugs. "Yeah, but it's totally possible to do the job without being so lame about it. He just - he doesn't know how to take a joke, much less make one, and it makes prefect meetings  _such_ a bore."

"Yeah, I can see how that would suck," I reply. Roxy may be Head Girl, but she's also got a brilliant sense of humour and a big personality, so being paired with someone who's got all the charisma of a beige wall definitely sounds like a struggle.

"And oh Merlin, did Lily tell you what she did in our dorm this term?"

"You mean the tattoos?" Roxanne nods in confirmation, so I continue. "Yeah, she showed me when I was at the Potters for Christmas."

"Yeah, well, that was obviously  _super_ not allowed," she says. "I mean, I doubt it's written anywhere in the school rules, because, I mean, why would you need it? What sane witch is going to fucking magically tattoo herself in her own dorm? But honestly, if word of that had gotten to Sprout - and to Aunt Ginny, Merlin forbid - I  _definitely_  would've gotten chewed out for letting it happen."

"Even if you'd tried to stop Lily, I  _doubt_ that would've worked," I tell her.

Roxanne giggles. "Oh trust me, I know. I've lived with the girl for seven years now - the moment she sets her mind to something, it's all over and you'll get your ass flattened if you try to get in her way."

I'm interrupted from responding by a hand clutching onto my upper arm. I turn to face the owner of said hand, only to find myself face-to-face with Louis.

"Oh thank  _Godric_ ," he says. " _Finally_ , someone I know. I've been walking through this place for ages and I haven't been able to find any of you."

"Well, here I am," I reply, flipping my hair. "What's up?"

"I have just seen," Louis pauses for emphasis, "the most beautiful man… that I have ever laid eyes on… in my entire life. And I need confirmation from at least one other person that he is actually in fact gorgeous and I'm not just really drunk."

His head snaps over to me. "And fuck, you're the  _perfect_ person for this. You're engaged, so even if you agree that he's the most beautiful person you've laid ever eyes on, I don't have to worry about competing with you."

I can't help but laugh at him, and how overdramatic he's become in his intoxication. "Alright Lou, let's go find this dream boy of yours." I wave goodbye to Roxanne before following him through the crowd.

We make it about 5 metres before Louis stops abruptly. "Right there," he says, pointing at the balcony above the dance floor. "The blond one."

Leaning against the railing and holding a glass of wine is a man who is, admittedly,  _very_ attractive. Not to mention, he's dressed impeccably, in the kind of way that only someone who is more than likely not entirely straight can pull off. If I tried to buy James a pair of pants that fit like that, he'd probably flat-out refuse to wear them.

"No drunk goggles here," I confirm. "He's drop-dead gorgeous."

"Who's drop-dead gorgeous?" a voice behind me asks, before a familiar set of arms wrap around my waist.

"This boy that Lou's been eying," I answer. "He needed an objective opinion about whether or not the bloke's actually good-looking and he's not just drunk."

"And with that confirmation, I'm off to go flirt with him until midnight," Louis responds, saluting me as he walks away.

"But I'm  _more_ drop-dead gorgeous, right?" James asks, spinning me around in his arms to face him.

"Well I'm engaged to you and not random balcony boy, so I think you're in the clear."

"Good," James says. "Want to go dance?"

I eye the clock that's floating over the middle of the club, declaring that there's still another 20 minutes to go until midnight. "Sure, let's go."

I let James take the lead as we move through the crowd, this time ending up in the middle of the makeshift dance floor.

"Still don't know if I'd call this dancing," I say, laughing.

It's definitely not dancing - unless the definition of the word has been expanded to include swaying back and forth while flush against each other.

"Somehow, I don't think that's really the point of the dancefloor here," James replies, his hands gradually moving lower on my hips until they're resolutely settled on my ass.

And it's not. Of the pairs I can see around us, at least three of them are passionately sucking face with their dance partner, instead of, well, actually dancing.

It's as I'm looking at one such pair, though, that I realize something.

"Holy shit, that's Freddy!"

James looks at me, eyes wide. "Fuck, what's Freddy doing?"

"Snogging some random girl," I answer, forcing myself to tear my eyes from the scene, which is a bit like watching a car accident happen.

He scoffs. "So I take it Caroline hasn't told him then."

I bite my lip. "I can't imagine she has - I doubt he'd be doing  _that_ if he knew."

"Well then," James says, leaning in so that I can hear him over the bass drop. "That's… that's going to be interesting."

I just nod. When I look back up to find Freddy and his mystery girl, they're nowhere to be found.

Before I know it, the music volume is being turned down in favour of a screamed countdown. The clock overhead morphs into glittery numbers, as the whole club shouts those last few seconds of the year.

"To marrying the love of my life this year," James murmurs in my ear, between the two and one.

And for just the briefest of moments, the rest of the world falls away.

There's just enough time for me to grin up at him before the crowd erupts into a shout of 'HAPPY NEW YEAR' and I pull his lips down to mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to an every-other-Saturday update schedule after this. The weekly thing was fun while it lasted. :)
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 7...
> 
> Almost as if on cue, a blond wizard in dress robes comes through the door. "And I thought MACUSA was a labyrinth," he mutters, almost to himself, before looking at Harry.
> 
> "My apologies, Mr. Potter. Got a little lost on the way here."
> 
> "No problem, Clark," Harry replies. "You were actually right on time. Have a seat - I'd only just finished explaining that you'll be joining the task force."
> 
> The man sits down, and I get my first good look at him. And I have to stop myself from letting my jaw drop wide open - or worse, bursting out laughing.


	7. Complexity #7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gossip will never stop swirling.

"There's been another death."

I knew, when I walked into the office and was immediately ushered into a meeting, that something had definitely happened over New Year's.

But I'm stunned to hear the news delivered nonetheless.

"This wasn't a mass murder; this was a specifically targeted victim," Harry continues, tapping the file intensely. "Harrison Specter of Pride of Portree was found dead on New Year's Day."

I can tell I'm supposed to know who that is, but the only Quidditch players I know by name are all of Dom's teammates and most of the Arrows players (because James won't ever shut up about them). So I just nod and arrange my facial expression to match the horrified looks of the other four men around me.

It's at least somewhat interesting that the death of one Quidditch player has garnered more of a reaction out some of these Aurors than the death of a hundred civilians.

"Once again, there's no evidence," he adds. "But it's the same group - it's got to be. Specter was a half-blood; his mother was a Muggle and his father a wizard."

Harry takes a deep breath. "And if it is, it looks like this is pureblood supremacy all over again. We could very well have another war on our hands if this isn't contained."

An inexplicable tightness settles in my chest. Growing up after the fall of Voldemort means that pretty much everyone my age has spent most of our lives thinking that was it, that the Second Wizarding War was the last of them, and we'd all live in peace from here on out. War was a thing of the past, not an eminent threat.

Oh, how wrong we were.

Harry starts speaking again, interrupting my reflections. "That being said, we're expanding the task force for this particular case. I'd like to get personal recommendations from you five about who you think would be best suited to join the team, although I do have one non-negotiable addition."

"And that is?" Greitens asks.

"Markus Clark. He's a new transplant from the MACUSA Auror division, and I think his perspective will be helpful - the States have a good deal more experience dealing with these types of situations as of late."

Harry looks down at his watch. "He should be getting here… now-ish."

Almost as if on cue, a blond wizard, dressed in tailored robes with an asymmetrical cut, comes through the door. "And I thought MACUSA was a labyrinth," he mutters, almost to himself, before looking at Harry.

"My apologies, Mr. Potter. Got a little lost on the way here." His American accent is particularly pronounced; there's an extra drawl there that sounds distinctly southern.

"No problem, Clark," Harry replies. "You were actually right on time. Have a seat - I'd only just finished explaining that you'll be joining the task force."

The man sits down, and I get my first good look at him. And I have to stop myself from letting my jaw drop wide open - or worse, bursting out laughing.

Because Markus Clark, the newest Auror in our department, is the same gorgeous and impeccably-dressed man that I told Louis to hook up with a few nights ago.

So  _I_  know  _him_ , but he has  _absolutely no idea_ who I am.

This is  _incredible_.

Which reminds me, I should also follow up with Louis and see if anything ever came of that attempt. I can't decide which one would be funnier - finding out that I'm now working with one of Louis' hook-ups, or finding out that I'm working with someone who turned down a part veela.

The meeting continues as the senior Aurors throw out name suggestions and develop a list of another three Aurors that we're adding to the team. I don't really participate all too much in the discussion - my limited influence on this group is like currency, and it's not worth spending on something like this.

So the decision is made to ask Kitchens, Reynolds, and Creevey to join the team, and I don't argue.

All things considered, it's not the worst trio of additions I could've asked for. At least we've got another woman now.

Two out of nine is hardly an improvement over one of five, but it's something.

 

* * *

 

When the meeting comes to close, I find that I'm one of the last people out the door; the only person still lingering in the conference room is Markus.

On my way out the door, he calls my name and stops me in my tracks. "Hey, Abigail, right?"

"Abby," I correct, out of habit. "I mean, yes, that's me."

"Abby, got it," he says. "Anyways, I was hoping to get more background on this case, and honestly you seem like you're the only person in this group that's not going to bore me to sleep with it, so I was wondering, can I take you out to lunch today?"

Is he… asking me on a date?

"That's, er…" I stammer. "I don't know if - "

Markus laughs at my clear discomfort. "I'm not asking you on a date, if that's what you're thinking, darlin'."

I audibly sigh with relief. "Oh thank Merlin."

" _Please_. I'd have to be living under a goddamned rock to miss your engagement to James Potter. You two monopolized the holiday gossip columns."

He pauses for a beat. "Not to mention, I'm about as straight as the hemline on these stupid dress robes - which is to say, not at all."

I can't help but laugh at that. "Lunch sounds great."

"Awesome," he replies. "You've probably got way more work than me today, so just come grab me whenever you're free."

"Sounds like a plan."

I leave the room and walk back to my desk. When I get there, Al notices me and immediately covers his mouth, looking like he's trying to refrain from laughing.

"What did I miss?" I ask warily as I sit down, looking between Al's barely contained glee and Aaliyah's much more serious expression.

She wordlessly slaps an interdepartmental notice that appears to be attached to a magazine onto my desk. I look at it for a moment, recognising the scrawling handwriting immediately.

_Honestly, this is even stupider that the time that they said we're only into vanilla sex._

"You're so lucky I found that before someone else did," she tells me. "Seriously, imagine if a reporter grabbed that -  _Witch Weekly_  would be running a column within the day trying to guess all your secret kinks."

I make a mental note to slap my fiancé upside the head when I get home for talking about our sex life over Ministry communication.

But nonetheless, I unfurl the magazine attached to it, recognising the script of the  _Truth Serum_  heading immediately.

_Truth Serum_  is a relatively new addition to the wizarding media, and it seems that the magazine's whole existence is dedicated to the most salacious theories possible, even if there's absolutely nothing to substantiate them. Somehow, nothing exists in magical law to stop this type of behaviour - which is bizarre, since even Muggle law has standards about this stuff - so they have thus far been able to publish whatever they want without consequences.

_James and Abigail: Faking It?_

_We've all known of the eldest Potter's relationship with Abigail Winchester since the summer of 2023, when the two made their relationship public at a celebration of Gryffindor's Quidditch Cup victory. The pair have seemingly had an effortless romance ever since, and announced their engagement just a few weeks ago._

I audibly scoff at the word 'effortless,' before reading on.

_But is it all a lie?_

_Sources point out that this relationship had awfully convenient beginnings. Winchester cheated on her long-term boyfriend with Potter at the start of that school year, and then accepted a position in James Potter's father's department around the same time as this relationship developed. And the eldest Potter faced mounting pressure to find a wife of his own given the impending marriages of both his godbrother Teddy Lupin and younger brother Albus Potter._

_This combination of factors leads our sources and this journalist to speculate whether -_

I throw the magazine in the bin before I even finish the article. The level of ridiculousness is astounding.

At least the 'we guessed each famous wizarding couple's favourite sex position' article was kind of funny, in addition to being completely stupid (and entirely incorrect). This one is just the latter two.

But, I suppose, it's not entirely unexpected. I should've known there'd be a new flurry of scandalous stories in the aftermath of James and I's engagement - it just seems the media held off until after Christmas to start making up new lies instead of letting them get lost in the holiday papers.

"Did you see the byline?" Aaliyah asks, tearing me from my thoughts.

"I… no," I reply. "I didn't. Should I?"

She grimaces. "Yeah."

So I fish the magazine back out of the rubbish bin and open it to the offending article. And sure enough, printed in tiny black letters under the headline is the phrase 'By: Brooke Dawson.'

"Holy… wow."

"My thoughts as well," Aaliyah says.

Despite being a few years older than me and not at Hogwarts for the massive unraveling that occurred in my seventh year, Aaliyah knew of the Royals during her time at Hogwarts - although, to be fair, everyone in that entire school knew about us.

And so when we first got hired, she almost immediately asked me for the real story about what happened in that year - as opposed to the one that had gotten printed in  _Witch Weekly_.

She also confessed that she hadn't liked me much while she was at Hogwarts, which was, honestly, totally justified. I wouldn't have liked me much either.

"So she's just… working for this trash magazine now, then?" I say, almost to no one. "Good for her, I guess."

"But what a fucking petty ass thing to do," Aaliyah responds. "She gets a job at  _Truth Serum_  and the first major article she publishes is a smear of her former friend. That's just… low."

I sigh. "Yeah, it is, I guess."

At the same time, I'm so tired of it all that I don't even care that much anymore. Scarlett and Brooke were both awful to me that last year, so it almost makes sense that at least one of them is still hung up on those same animosities three years later.

I suppose some grudges just never go away.

 

* * *

 

"I've mostly been digging through victim files," I tell Markus, sipping a gillywater as we talk. "I'm convinced there's some sort of common thread between those first hundred people, but the other four gave up on that thread pretty quickly - nothing jumped out at them, so they all assumed it was a lost cause."

"That's… stupid," he replies. "Why would you give up on a whole potential lead just because it didn't have an obvious answer?"

I shrug. "Beats me. They seem to think we've got a better chance in stopping another attack and finding the perpetrators that way, so they're monitoring mail and the like for compulsion charms, but… I don't know. I feel like these people are smarter than that. They're not going to do anything the same way twice."

"I mean, yeah. If I were trying to get away with some big bad murder shit, I wouldn't go for the same old plot every time either. Hell, I don't even repeat outfits, much less murder schemes."

"Careful, Clark," I warn, grinning, "talking like that is going to make me put you on the list of suspects."

"Good thing I've got an airtight alibi," he answers. "You know, the whole 'being on the other side of the Atlantic fucking Ocean' thing and all."

"Well, there goes a promising lead," I say sarcastically.

This is the first time I've been able to talk about this case - at least, the intricate details of it - with anyone, and have felt like the other person actually cares about my input. I've been fighting with Greitens about these victim files for the past week, so to have someone who actually takes my side on this is positively  _liberating_.

And while Markus isn't that much older than me, I can't help but cynically wonder if people will listen to him more because the idea is coming out of a man's mouth instead of mine.

I shake that thought off, and instead change the subject. "What brought you over to the UK, by the way?"

Markus shrugs. "Just wanted a change of pace, you know? The Auror department here has more opportunities for growth, and it doesn't hurt that I really fucking love British accents."

"Fair enough," I reply. "I've got a friend who went over to the States for a few years for a similar reason - she works in International Magical Cooperation and the US office had a fantastic diplomatic programme."

Which reminds me, I need to pick up some sort of 'welcome back' gift for Caroline before she gets back this weekend.

And figure out what the hell to do about the fact that she apparently never told Freddy.

"You look like your mind just went somewhere totally different," Markus observes.

"I guess it did."

"Wanna talk about it?" he asks, and normally I wouldn't talk about my friends to a stranger, but something about Markus' whole demeanour makes me trust him more than I would otherwise.

"Basically," I start, "aforementioned friend is coming back from the States this weekend, and she told a bunch of people, but failed to mention it to her ex-boyfriend, who's… also one of my friends, and is definitely still in love with her."

Markus cringes. "Yeah, that's some deep shit. But, at the same time, he's her ex, so like, I feel like she doesn't owe him an explanation at this point?"

I bite my lip, considering that. "That's fair, but also… they only broke up because of the distance thing. I swear to Merlin, if she'd never left, they'd be married by now. So the fact that she said nothing is confusing. Part of me wants to tell him, so he's not blindsided when she just starts showing up to things again, but… that's not my place."

Markus reaches over, grabbing my hands and looking me in the eye. "Let me tell you one piece of advice that changed my life:  _never_ interfere in your friend's love lives without their permission. It will  _always_ end in at least one person getting fucked… and not in the fun way."

I can't help but giggle at that.

"Okay then," I say, "that's that. I'm letting them sort out their own lives."

He grins at me. "Good girl."

 

* * *

 

I get home about an hour later than I'd like, having been pulled into a random meeting when I attempted to leave the first time.

When I walk into the living room, I see James sitting on the couch, and I'm filled with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. I can't stop hearing Harry's words in my head -  _we could very well have another war on our hands if this isn't contained_.

It almost makes me understand why so many people went into hiding during the two wars. There's something massively appealing about running away from it all and protecting yourself and the people you love the most.

But this is one situation I can't run away from.

So instead I settle for the next best option - holding him as close as I can for the night.

Before I can do that, though, there's something else I need to handle first, so I walk purposefully towards where James is sitting.

He looks up from his book at me, an easy smile spreading across his face.

"Good evening, gorg -  _ow_ , what was that for?" He rubs the back of his head where I'd just swatted him, giving me a scandalised look.

I sit down next to him, kissing his cheek and curling up against him as if nothing happened. "You know exactly what it was for."

"Ah," he says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. "The sex comment via Ministry communication."

"Got it in one."

"You know," he adds after a moment, "we don't have to do this."

When I lift my head from his shoulder to give him a questioning look, he's smirking at me. "There's no cameras around, and since we're obviously only faking our entire relationship and engagement, we don't need to pretend to be affectionate right now."

"I mean, you never know," I reply, playing along. "We should probably keep up the ruse even in private just to make sure. Especially because people are onto us now."

"Ah, smart thinking," he grins. "I knew there was a reason I picked you as my fake fiancée."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 8...
> 
> The little shop bell rings, and at first, there's no response. Then all of a sudden, a voice rings out from one of the aisles.
> 
> "Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, how can we brighten up your - " Fred emerges and, upon looking over at the newest customer to arrive, promptly drops the box of Skiving Snackboxes he was holding, sending Fever Fudge and Puking Pastilles scattering across the shop floor.
> 
> " - day," he finishes eventually, suddenly frozen in place.
> 
> "Hi," Caroline says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.


	8. Complexity #8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing from your past is ever truly gone.

"CAROLINE!"

The smile that spreads across the raven-haired girl's face as she turns in the direction of Dom's voice is infectious.

Instead of hugging her one at a time, there is an unspoken unanimous decision to turn it into a massive group hug, and we end up piling on top of each other in the middle of the restaurant.

"I've missed you all so much," she says, beaming at us once we've finally separated. "Tell me everything I've missed."

"Abby got engaged, have you heard?"

"I think everyone's heard that one," Caroline says, laughing. "Although, you know, would've been nice to hear from James about it in advance instead of seeing it on a newspaper headline."

"That wasn't even a different continent thing, you know," Molly replies. "James was so set on having it be a secret that he didn't tell anyone other than his immediate family and Fred - and  _that_ was only because he needed their help pulling it off. Said something about 'us being a bunch of loud-mouthed gossips,' which is  _completely ridiculous._ "

"And by completely ridiculous, she means completely accurate," Dom amends.

Caroline laughs. "See, that would've made me the perfect person to tell. By the time I would've been able to get Abby a letter and tip her off, it would've been entirely too late, because transatlantic mail is absolute shit."

After a moment, she looks around the table. "Any other life updates I need to know about?"

Amelie shrugs. "We're all just bumbling around and trying not to fuck things up. Abby's the only one with her life remotely together, last I checked."

"I would like to make the argument that being engaged has not done anything in the realm of helping me get my life together. If anything, it's made things  _more_  chaotic."

"Getting married still seems way more adult than what any of us are doing," Amelie says. "I mean, Molly's still acting like a teenage girl and pretending she doesn't actually have a crush on that Zara girl."

"Am not!" Molly argues, before looking down at her lap and adding, much softer, "I'm actually planning on asking her out to dinner tomorrow."

"Wait, really?"

Molly nods.

" _Fuck_ yes," Dom says, punching her fist in the air victoriously. "I'm glad you're learning to take our advice on these things."

Molly raises her eyebrows at that. "You know, last time you tried to tell me how to handle a crush, I got rejected in the middle of a party - so honestly, it would probably be a  _smarter_ decision to not take your advice. I don't know why I'm even doing this."

"You say that like you didn't date him for six months after that," Dom retorts.

"Regardless," Molly tugs on the end of her plait, "this  _is_  slightly different, anyways, because I'm not asking her out on an official date - it's just a casual dinner and we'll see if anything happens from there."

"Speaking of dates," Amelie says, changing the subject and turning to Caroline, "what's happening with you and Fred now? How did he react when you told him you were coming home?"

A little of the colour drains out of Caroline's cheeks. "He didn't."

"He didn't say  _anything_?" Dom says disbelievingly.

Caroline looks intently at her drink. "It's… it's more that I didn't tell him."

"Why not?" I ask, doing my best to keep the accusatory tone out of my voice.

I love Caroline to death, but I'm still a bit annoyed that she didn't tell Freddy anything. She may have been away from it all, but I've had to witness firsthand just how much the end of their relationship affected him.

Her eyes snap up to look at me. "I don't know - I was just afraid that if I owled him, he'd either expect us to jump right back into things, or he'd be with someone else by now and I'd look way too over-eager by contacting him after we've been broken up for over a year."

"Well, he's definitely not with anyone," Dom confirms.

I'm pretty sure James and I were the only ones that saw the girl Freddy ended up taking home on New Year's; but even then, James said he'd talked to him the next morning and Freddy had adamantly insisted that girl was a one-time, drunk thing.

Which would've been awfully reassuring about Freddy's recovery to his normal self, if it weren't for the fact that I'd also already known about Caroline coming back.

"Do you  _want_ to get back together with him?" Molly asks.

Caroline bites her lip, thinking about that. "I - I'm not sure," she manages eventually. "We broke up for a reason, you know. Long-distance brought up some issues, so I'm not… I'm not ready to just jump right back into things as if nothing's happened."

I don't really know everything that went into their break-up - Freddy was weirdly quiet about it and Caroline could only say so much in a letter - but her justification sounds fair. It'd be weird to jump straight back into a relationship after being broken up for a year.

But at the same time, it's almost hard to imagine a world in which they  _don't_ get back together. And I'm not saying that just because it would mess up our guest list.

They brought out the best in each other, truly; Caroline kept Freddy grounded and Fred always made her laugh.

"As much as I'd very much like to see you get back with Freddy so he can start acting slightly  _less_  like a miserable lump," Dom says, "I respect that logic a lot. Saves the both of you from unnecessary heartbreak."

Caroline looks a little surprised by that. "Freddy? Miserable?"

"Not miserable, per say," Molly amends. "Just… slightly less Freddy, if that makes sense."

Caroline laughs under her breath, her eyes softer now. "Yeah. That makes sense."

Merlin, I'm going to eat my veil if they're not back together by August.

  


* * *

  


Dom, Molly, and Amelie all end up leaving lunch as soon as the bill is paid, but Caroline lingers, and I stay with her.

"Is Freddy still running the Hogsmeade shop?"

I turn to look at Caroline, who's nervously playing with the ends of her hair. It's longer than the shoulder-length hairstyle that she had at Hogwarts, and it really suits her.

"Yeah, he is."

"And is he working today?" she asks.

I feel like I know where this is going. "Most likely."

"If I… if I go visit him at the shop, will you come with me?"

"Now?"

Caroline nods.

"Okay," I reply.

If I'm being honest with myself, I'm actually kind of excited at the prospect of being able to eavesdrop on this reunion. I'm  _so_ curious as to how Freddy will react. I also like the idea of being able to go home and give James a full recap.

I suppose my fiancé was right. We  _are_  a bunch of loud-mouthed gossips.

"Thank you," she gushes, looking relieved.

So I find myself Apparating to Hogsmeade with her, and following her down the main street to the Hogsmeade branch of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes - the bright orange frame of the building standing out against the snowy surroundings.

Before she grabs the door handle, she looks back at me. "Do I look okay?"

I want to tell her that she could show up in a potato sack and still knock Freddy off his feet, but I know that's not the answer she's looking for. "Yes, you look amazing," I confirm.

And with that, she pulls the door open, crossing the threshold into the joke shop.

The little shop bell rings, and at first, there's no response. Then all of a sudden, a voice rings out from one of the aisles.

"Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, how can we brighten up your - " Fred emerges and, upon looking over at the newest customer to arrive, promptly drops the box of Skiving Snackboxes he was holding, sending Fever Fudge and Puking Pastilles scattering across the shop floor.

" - day," he finishes eventually, suddenly frozen in place.

"Hi," Caroline says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

As eager as I was to eavesdrop on this reunion, I also feel like I'm intruding on a moment that I shouldn't be here for.

"Hey," Fred says, finally getting his bearings again and muttering a spell to gather up the spilled Snackboxes. When he's got them boxed up again, he adds, "So, er, what are you doing here?"

"I'm back from the States. For good this time."

"That's great," he says, surprisingly expressionless for someone who's always bursting at the seams with energy.

"Yeah, it is. I've missed this place a lot." There's an unspoken end to that sentence - the  _I've missed you_  part - but I think Freddy picks up on it regardless, because he raises his eyebrows at her.

"But anyways," she continues, "Abby and I just happened to be in the area, so I figured I'd swing by. And you know, maybe see if you wanted to grab a pint and catch up sometime."

Freddy smiles for what I'm pretty sure is the first time since we got here. "Yeah, I'd like that a lot."

Truly, this whole 'letting them figure things out themselves and not intervening' thing is  _hard_. They're being so adult about this and not jumping straight into things, which is definitely the more responsible move and probably what I'd do if I were in her situation, but it's also the slower one, and I've never been one for patience.

"Great," Caroline says, and it's obvious that she's fighting back a smile. "Does Friday work?"

"Sure. Three Broomsticks?"

"Sounds good to me."

I wonder if either of them realise that they're going back to the place where they had their first date. It has to cross at least one of their minds.

"I'll see you then." Caroline gives a little half-wave, before turning to leave. I get one last look at Freddy, who looks entirely too overwhelmed by the incredibly awkward interaction that just occurred, before I follow her out.

  


* * *

  


When I eventually say goodbye to Caroline and Apparate back to the townhouse, I discover that Freddy's beaten me here. He's clearly talking to James in the living room, so I do my best to stay quiet and listen in without intruding.

"Did you know that she was coming back?" he asks. "Because your fiancée seemed completely unruffled by all of it, which makes me feel like  _she_ knew, and I know you two tell each other pretty much everything."

"I - yeah, I knew," James says.

"For how long?"

"Since Christmas," he replies. "Caroline wrote Abby on Christmas, but Abby and I didn't know if she was planning on telling you herself, so we didn't say anything."

"Well,  _clearly_ she wasn't," Fred says, sounding annoyed. "Instead, she just fucking shows up in the shop and scares the shit out of me and asks me to go out for a pint like nothing's happened at all."

There's a pause. "I'm not - I'm not mad at you," he adds. "Or Abby. I just - I figured I'd mean enough to her to get a letter or  _something_  as warning."

Oh.  _Oh_. Freddy's taken her lack of a letter as a sign that she's not into him anymore.

Which is… not true in the slightest. But Caroline's always been cautious about her relationships, and Freddy should know that.

"Well, she asked you out for drinks, didn't she?" James says, trying to sound reasonable. "That's got to count for something."

"Unless she's planning on telling me she wants nothing to do with me and didn't want to tell me that by letter."

If it weren't for the fact that I'm not even supposed to be  _hearing_ this conversation, I'd walk right up to Freddy and smack some sense into him. Surely he can't be  _that_ thick.

"Somehow, I really doubt that," James answers.

"I guess," comes Freddy's skeptical reply.

"And if that is her plan, then fuck her," he adds. "She's an idiot, and it's her loss."

And my loyalties are once again pulled in all sorts of crazy directions, because I absolutely hate hearing James talk about one of my best friends like that and want to tell him off for it, but I also know he's only doing it for Freddy's benefit.

"But once again," James says, "I highly doubt that's what she's planning on doing. You and I both know Caroline well enough to know that if she wanted nothing to do with you she would've cut you off already."

Freddy seems to reflect on that for a few moments. "That's true. Oh - shit, I should get back to the shop."

"Yeah, aren't you the only one working today?"

He laughs for the first time all day. "Yeah, I am. I just stuck up a 'be back soon!' sign in the window so I could have a few minutes to process this shit."

They say goodbye, and as soon as I hear the familiar roar of the fireplace, I step into the living room.

James instantly turns to look at me. "Let me guess," he says, a smirk spreading across his face, "you've been standing outside the door eavesdropping ever since Freddy got here."

"Give or take a few minutes," I shrug.

"Typical," he laughs. "So you heard me talk Freddy off an entirely ridiculous ledge."

"Yep," I reply, before falling onto the couch and laying on my back, staring up at the ceiling. "Why is getting two people to get back together so  _hard_?"

"You do realize Caroline has literally only been back in the country for a day, right?"

I prop myself up on my elbows, looking over at him. "Oi, where do you get off being the logical one in this relationship?"

"I don't know, but it feels responsible, and I don't like it," he replies. "Oh! Also - Cecile owled me, and we've officially got a wedding venue."

Even though pretty much every Weasley/Potter wedding since the beginning of time has been hosted at the Burrow, I wanted something that felt a little nicer than that - which Ginny was totally fine with, and I somehow escaped the responsibility of breaking the news to James' Nana Molly, so the decision had gone over relatively smoothly. Instead, we're getting married at the magical botanical garden that Cecile works at - it's just a touch more scenic and romantic, and will properly fit our entire (somewhat massive) guest list.

"Oh yay, that's wonderful," I say, sitting fully upright. "One more major step down, a million to go."

"We're killing it with this whole wedding-planning thing." He holds his hand up for a high-five, which I quickly reach over and give him.

We honestly  _are_ kind of killing it. Which is nothing short of a miracle given how hectic this past month has been.

"Do you want to go out to dinner tonight to celebrate? I was just thinking, it's been a while since we've gone anywhere as just the two of us."

I think about it for a moment, but my mind can't help but wander back to all the files and notes sitting on the kitchen table. "I'd love to, but I've got a ton of work to catch up on," I tell him honestly.

I watch as a flash of annoyance appears on James' face, but it quickly melts away and is replaced with a sigh. "Delivery then? I'm not in the mood to cook tonight, and if you've got work to do, I assume you're not either."

"Sounds lovely," I say as I get up from the couch, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek and hopefully smooth over some of his apparent frustration, before making good on my word and heading to the kitchen table to get some work done.

  


* * *

  


The rest of the weekend flies by in a bit of a blur, and it's Monday before I know it. I've got an early meeting, so I leave for the Ministry a bit earlier than usual - the quiet of an almost-empty office is nice for getting focused before having to deal with the rest of the team.

I grab the  _Prophet_ on my way out the door, shoving it into my tote bag along with the files I'd brought home over the weekend.

Sure enough, the Auror office is almost entirely empty - the peacefulness of it is a marked contrast to what it's often like during normal workday hours.

Al's the first junior Auror to arrive, and I look up to give him a brief wave before turning back to my notes.

"Er, Abby?" Al says, and the on-edge tone of his voice immediately tells me something's up. "Have you looked at the  _Prophet_  this morning?"

"Not yet."

"You should do that," he replies urgently. "Like, right now."

When I pull the  _Prophet_ out of my bag, a little slip of paper flutters out of it - which is all the proof I need that there is  _definitely_ something wrong.

Scorpius works in the editing department of the  _Daily Prophet_ , and as such, he sees every article that gets printed in a given day. He's completely powerless to stop any of them, but he sees them all nonetheless.

Whenever there's something really bad printed in the paper about one of us, he sticks an apology note in our copy of the paper.

It's a sweet gesture, even if it is a little pointless.

I open the paper, almost immediately finding the article that warranted a message.

The first thing I notice is the massively blown-up picture. It's from last week, when Markus and I went out to grab lunch. He's holding on to both of my hands and looking me in the eyes, and then photograph-me starts to laugh. If I didn't know better, I'd say it looks like we're on a date.

Underneath it, in bold letters, a headline that makes my blood run cold.

  


_Once a Cheater, Always a Cheater?_

_Someone should've warned James - if they cheat with you, they'll cheat on you. The relationship between Abigail Winchester and James Potter started off that way; longtime readers will remember that this couple's teenage romance was initiated by Winchester's infidelity earlier that year._

_Now, it seems, she's back to her old ways. As pictured above, Winchester was spotted having lunch and getting surprisingly cozy with a new man._

_Sources report that this new person is Markus Clark, a recent transfer to the Ministry Auror Office from MACUSA. The Auror office has been busy lately dealing with the aftermath of the large-scale massacre in December, and it seems that those long hours have driven Winchester to initiate a new office romance in the meantime._

  


My heart climbs into my chest and the paper flutters back onto my desk, entirely forgotten as every ounce of my being is consumed with that same sense of horror that I've only experienced once before - except now, it's ten times worse.

There's only one thought in my mind right now:  _I have to find James._  I have to make sure he knows this isn't true.

As soon as I cross the threshold of the Auror office, I break into a run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was not meant to end on a cliffhanger, but the next scene got too long and had to be bumped to the next chapter. Oops.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 9…
> 
> When I get back to the Auror office, Markus comes up to me almost immediately.
> 
> "Oh thank Merlin, I've been looking for you everywhere."
> 
> "Did you know?" I say, entirely without preamble. Based on his own expression, he knows exactly what I'm referring to.
> 
> "Did I know what?" he asks, eyebrows knitted together. "Did I know that this shit was going to get published, or that there was apparently a fucking photographer at the restaurant? Fuck no."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> False stories in the paper make unexpected waves.

By the time I get to the Magical Law office, I'm notably winded. I'd been in pretty good shape during Auror training out of necessity, but now that I don't actually do any field work, there hasn't been much use in keeping it up.

I head straight back into the main office area, entirely ignoring the secretary's request for me to sign in. I'm sure she has to know who I am by this point anyways.

James is sitting at his desk, looking entirely unruffled as he half-heartedly flips through a file. Which can only mean he hasn't seen the paper yet - thank  _Merlin_.

At the sudden commotion my arrival has caused, he looks up. "Abby?" he says, eyebrows crinkling together in confusion. "What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

"I - it's not true - you have to believe me," I blurt out, because that's the anthem I've been repeating in my head the entire way down here.

Of course, that was before I'd discovered James didn't even know anything. Now that the words are out of my mouth, I realise that they'll make absolutely no sense to him. And I'm correct in that - he just looks even more puzzled than before. "What?"

"Have you read the  _Prophet_ yet?"

"How could I have?" he asks. "You took our copy with you when you left. Why?"

I pause to take a deep breath, although it does little to calm the hammering of my heart. "Because I only read it a few minutes ago as well. And there's - there's an article in there that's… it's really bad, James."

By this point, I think I've accidentally attracted the attention of everyone in this part of the office - and it's almost comically clear who's read the paper today and who hasn't.

"Why would you come running all this way over a  _Prophet_  article? Since when have either of us cared about what they publish about us?" James turns to his colleague, who's got a copy of the  _Prophet_ sitting rather prominently on his desk. "Lancaster, can I borrow that?"

The poor bloke looks like a deer caught in wandlight, eyes wide as he looks back and forth between James and I, quite clearly not wanting to be the person responsible for breaking this story to him. I give him a nod, silently telling him to give James the paper - James is going to have to read it at  _some_ point, and it's probably best that it happens while I'm literally standing next to him.

He hands the paper to James, who scans it for a few moments before the expression on his face shifts - and that's how I know he's seen the headline.

"Oh."

His expression is oddly unreadable when he looks back up, and my heart's ready to drop out of my chest for what feels like the hundredth time this morning.

"Let's continue this conversation somewhere more private, yeah?"

"Okay," I reply, and my voice sounds unexpectedly hollow. I can't tell what he's thinking - and right now, my thoughts are jumping to the worst possible conclusions, and I'm having flashbacks to the night Blaise broke up with me and James' first reaction was 'couldn't he have picked a more private place?'

Is that why he wants to go somewhere more private? To end things?

He  _can't_. He wouldn't. If he calls off the engagement without even letting me explain my side of things, then he's… he's just as bad as Blaise was.

And I  _know_  he's not like that.

But it doesn't stop me from worrying, even when James places his hand on my lower back to lead me out of the office and into an empty hallway, which isn't the type of gesture I'd expect if he was preparing to break up with me.

As soon as we're alone, he turns to face me.

"Okay, I'm just going to start by stating the obvious. I don't believe any of that shit."

The relief that floods my system is almost instantaneous. But also, how on earth was I supposed to find that ' _obvious_ '  given the blank expression he'd given me just a few moments ago?

"You… you don't?"

"No," James replies, as if it's the most straightforward thing in the world. "Why would I?"

It takes me a moment to realize that his question wasn't rhetorical. "Because," I start, fixing my gaze on some random painting halfway down the hall as I grapple with the weird mixture of emotions in my head right now, "it's… I mean, the article is right. I've done it before."

"Abby, look at me," he says, grabbing onto my hands. I force myself to look up at him, and tears start welling up in my eyes out of some combination of shame, relief, and residual fear. His eyes are soft, and he's looking at me with a surprising amount of tenderness for someone who'd just read that his fiancée was cheating on him.

"Trust me, I know better than anyone that you're  _not_ the same person you were back then."

"Yeah, I guess you  _would_  know that better than anyone," I say wryly, trying to crack a smile, failing, and instead letting the first tear slide down.

"So, now that we've gotten  _that_ out of the way, care to explain the  _real_ context behind that photo?" James' hand comes up to rest on the side of my face, his thumb swiping at the tear on my cheek.

There's such a rush of affection that goes through me that, if I hadn't turned into an unexpected emotional wreck already, that would've been the moment that did it. This is one of the things I've always loved best about James - his massive faith in the people he cares about and his capacity to be way more understanding than I could ever hope to be. It's why I was able to shake off that voice in my head that had jumped to the worst conclusions.

"Merlin,  _yes_ ," I respond, the words coming out like a tidal wave. "The bloke in the picture… that's Markus. He's a new transfer to the Auror department - the paper  _did_  get that part right. We went out to lunch last week so that I could give him background on the case since he's new - and I even clarified beforehand that it wasn't a date and was just a work thing, because I didn't want him getting any ideas. And he didn't… but I didn't even think about anyone putting it in a newspaper article. But, oddly enough, in that picture in particular, he's actually giving me advice on the whole Freddy and Caroline thing."

"And that advice was?"

"That you and I shouldn't meddle so much," I say, successfully managing to smile at him this time. "I believe his words were something along the lines of 'that always ends with someone getting fucked, and not in the fun way' - hence me laughing in the picture."

"I mean, technically, we  _aren't_ meddling." He returns my smile with a smirk of his own. "Not directly, anyways - setting them up on our guest list doesn't count because no one actually knows about that. So the only way anyone's getting fucked in this situation  _is_ in the fun way."

I can't help but laugh at that, before remembering something else. "Not to mention, I never told you the other reason I know Markus."

James raises his eyebrows. "Which is?"

"He's the bloke Louis went home with on New Year's."

He laughs under his breath at that. "Really? No kidding."

"Yep," I tell him. "The very same. So he's  _most definitely_ not after me. Or vice versa."

"I mean, you did tell me I was better-looking than him anyways, so I'd figure as much."

"Yep, you've got no competition," I say. Normally I probably wouldn't stroke his ego  _quite_ that much - he needs  _someone_ around to keep that in check, after all - but this feels like a pretty important thing to establish given what got published today.

"Of course I don't," he says, his hand finally falling away from my face and reaching up to ruffle up his hair. "That's why I didn't believe that article, obviously."

After a moment, he adds, "Well, that, and the fact that the papers spout fake shit non-stop anyways. I mean, they said we'd managed to fake-date for almost three years last week, so it's getting harder and harder to believe anything they say anymore. And even though that story is - well, they certainly decided to take the phrase 'hit them where they're weak' quite literally, to say the least - there's no way in hell I'd believe some newspaper article more than you."

"Well, thank you for having so much faith in me."

"Of course I have faith in you, love." James looks at me, a bit more serious again. "You're not the same person you were when you were seventeen - and neither am I, thank  _Merlin_  - and you've never given me any reason not to trust you since."

I do an awkward little sniffle thing in an attempt to recover from my previous breakdown, and while I'm vaguely disgusted with myself for it, James apparently finds it somewhat endearing, because he leans over and kisses me on the forehead.

"Also," he says after a second, gesturing vaguely towards my face, "you might want to fix that."

I can't imagine what kind of state my makeup is in at this point - I conjure a mirror and am immediately greeted with the sight of noticeably smudged mascara and splotchy cheeks. I pull my wand out of my pocket and mutter a few charms to fix it - I don't normally like using magic for anything makeup-related, but it'll have to do for now.

He grabs my hand before we walk back into his office, and I appreciate the gesture now even more than usual - it'll hopefully serve as proof that the breakup that anyone in his office might've been expecting didn't actually occur.

When we get to his desk, James grabs the  _Prophet_ off his desk and tosses it back onto Lancaster's.

"I'll see you tonight, love," he says, giving me a quick kiss.

"See you tonight," I echo, unable to keep the slightly smug look off my face when I notice some of the confused expressions of his co-workers. If any of them thought they were about to get a front row seat to a dramatic break-up, they've clearly been disappointed.

Thank Godric for an understanding fiancé who doesn't like to handle important conversations in front of an audience.

When I get back to the Auror office, Markus comes up to me almost immediately.

"Oh thank Merlin, I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Did you know?" I say, entirely without preamble. Based on his own expression, he knows exactly what I'm referring to.

"Did I know what?" he asks, eyebrows knitted together. "Did I know that this shit was going to get published, or that there was apparently a fucking photographer at the restaurant? Fuck no."

"Well… good," I respond. I've never had anyone try to befriend me just for the notoriety that my love life brings to the table, but I suppose it's not an entirely impossible occurrence either.

"Are you and James okay?"

"We are now." I could go into more details, but honestly, this morning has already been enough of a roller coaster without having the recount the whole thing again.

"That's good - although, fuck, you know, you're not the only one who's love life got put at risk of going to shit because of this." Markus reaches up to massage his temples. "I'm going to have  _so much_ explaining to do, especially since you're the fiancée of one of his bloody cousins at that."

"Wait," I say, putting the pieces together in my head, "are you and Louis…?"

His hands immediately drop and he looks at me, wide-eyed. "How the hell do you know about that?"

So something is  _still_ happening between the two of them. Interesting.

"Because I was there the night you two met," I answer simply, the mood a little lighter now that he know he didn't sell me out to a bunch of reporters for his own gain. "I was used as confirmation that you were, to quote Louis, 'the most gorgeous bloke he'd ever seen,' and that he wasn't just seeing you through drunk goggles."

I pause for a moment as Markus continues looks at me, still slightly stunned. "Feel free to take the mickey out of him for that, by the way."

"Oh Merlin, I definitely will," he says eventually, grinning devilishly. "As long as he's still talking to me after this, that is."

"What are you two, by the way?" It's been a while since I've seen Louis, but I still feel like I would've heard from someone by now if he had a new boyfriend.

"Hell if I know," is Markus' response. From the casual way he says it, it doesn't seem like he's in any sort of rush to define the relationship, though. "I know we're enough of something that a newspaper article getting published claiming that I'm 'the other man' in your life is super problematic, though."

I go to pat him reassuringly on the shoulder, but stop myself before I touch him. I don't need any more questionable photographs of me floating around anytime soon - keeping my distance is definitely the safer bet. "I'm sure Louis will understand - I mean, the moment he knows  _James and I_ aren't broken up over it, he'll know the whole thing was a lie."

By the expression on his face, it's clear that that fact hadn't occurred to him yet. "I guess… yeah, I guess you're right. That solves a lot."

A few moments later, he adds. "Oh  _shit_. We're late for that meeting."

He's right. In the flurry of activity and chaos that happened this morning, I'd completely forgotten about the whole reason I'd shown up to the office early anyways - the stupid meeting where I was supposed to be talking about my progress with the victim files so far. Yikes.

So I run to my desk, grab the papers I need, and head to the conference room. When I get there, I discover Harry standing at the back of the room, talking with Randall about some sort of tip-off related to another case, while the rest of the Aurors are chatting amongst themselves. At the sound of the door opening, however, the entire room turns to face me.

"Sorry I'm late," I say, feeling heat rise in my cheeks. "I had some, er, personal matters to attend to."

Markus slides in the door behind me, but almost no one acknowledges his tardiness. All eyes in the room stay on me.

"Ah yes, our department diva, dealing with the aftermath of her latest scandal," Kitchens says, the judgmental tone clearly evident in his voice.

I feel my blood boil - how  _dare_ he talk about me like that when I've done  _nothing_ to deserve it, I didn't exactly  _ask_  to get slandered in the newspaper that basically every witch and wizard in the UK reads - but I bite my tongue and take my seat.

Harry, as it turns out, doesn't have that same sense of reservation. "I'd watch how you speak to your colleagues when your department head is in the room. Especially when said department head has also been a - what's the word you used again? -  _diva_ for daring to exist in a world where newspapers decide to publish false stories about his personal life."

That shuts the older Auror up, and makes me wish that, for once, I had the nerve to stand up for myself in these situations instead of letting Harry do it every time.

But I'm also grateful that Harry clearly doesn't believe the  _Prophet_ story; that would've made for an unbearably uncomfortable meeting if I had to go through it with my boss thinking I was cheating on his son with one of his other employees.

Although in fairness, Harry would understand the struggle of dealing with the magical media more than anyone -  _his_ fame is the only reason James' or my life is of any interest to the  _Prophet_ anyways.

The meeting itself passes relatively uneventfully - I fully zone out on more than one occasion, but luckily, no one seems to take notice of that.

When it finally comes to a close, I come out of the conference room to find Molly standing in front of my desk, chatting with Al and Aaliyah.

"What are you doing here?" I say, entirely without preamble. Skipping introductions seems to be my MO this morning.

"I was just coming up here to make sure that you were okay after the shit that got published in the papers this morning." She suddenly breaks into a grin. " _And_ to tell you that I have a date on Saturday."

"Aw, Molly!" I say, returning her smile with one of my own. "I'm so happy for you!"

"Thanks," she replies, flushing a little.

I think back to our last conversation about Zara, and can't stop myself from asking. "But what happened to 'going out to dinner as friends'?"

"Well, that's what I started off asking. But then she asked if I was asking her out on a date, so I replied with 'do you want me to be asking you out on a date,' and her response was 'yes,' so… well, it's a date now."

I'm glad at least  _someone's_ morning has been more pleasant than mine.

"Looks like you will be needing a plus one to my wedding after all then," I tell her, finally putting my papers back on my desk.

"Don't get ahead of yourself there, Abby," she responds. "It's only one date."

"Oh shut it, Molly," Al says, inviting himself into the conversation. "I haven't seen you get this excited about a date… well, ever. And if she's the one who asked  _you_ to ask her on a date, then I've got a good feeling that this isn't going to be just one date."

Molly's cheeks tinge pink. "Yeah, okay, maybe."

"Oi, Abby," Aaliyah says, grinning, "you wanna use your matchmaker skills on me too sometime soon?"

I laugh at that; although, in fairness, Molly did most of the work in this situation herself. "As long as I don't have to deal with any more explosive gossip columns anytime soon, I can possibly be of assistance in that regard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 10…
> 
> He does as he’s told, shrugging his jacket off and pulling his shirt over his head, but apparently runs into problems when he gets to his shoes. He sits on the floor, looking up at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Help?”
> 
> I can’t resist rolling my eyes, even though I know the effect will be lost on him, before untying his stupid shoes for him and getting him into the shower. I actually don’t even trust him not to slip and crack his own skull open in this state, so I follow him in, pyjamas and all, although the mood is decidedly different from most times we’re both in this shower together.
> 
> Under the stream of the hot water, I catch him studying me. “That was really fucking mean of you, you know,” he says, and I’ve only got somewhat of a clue of what he’s talking about.
> 
> “Yeah, well, we both made mistakes tonight then.”


	10. Complexity #10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revelations strike at the most inconvenient times.

On the day of James' twenty-first birthday, I wake up before him, sneaking downstairs to get his present put up before he gets up.

I've been excited about this one for a while - I know how sentimental James is when it comes to photographs, so it didn't surprise me that he'd had Freddy rig up a camera at our proposal spot along with all the fireworks. And at that point, it was just a matter of finding a good frame for it.

It's going to be, by far, the biggest photograph on this wall, so I wave my wand and watch as the frames rearrange themselves, leaving a large gap in the center for the newest addition. We're honestly almost running out of room on this wall; soon enough, the photo gallery will manage to spread all the way into the upstairs hallway.

Once I've got it in position, I head down the rest of the stairs to make coffee, and wait for James' alarm to go off.

I've only just poured myself a cup when I see James making his way down the stairs, definitely not fully awake yet. Somehow, he misses the new picture entirely, looking at me and grinning lazily.

"Good morning."

"Turn around," I respond.

He looks appropriately befuddled by that command. "What?"

"Just… turn around and look at the stairs please," I say, trying to be a bit more specific this time.

He gives me yet another skeptical look, but obliges nonetheless. And once he does, it takes all of five seconds for him to notice what I'm talking about.

"Happy birthday, James," I tell him, walking up behind him and wrapping my arm around his middle.

"I love it," he replies immediately, throwing his arm around my shoulders and leaning over to kiss me on the temple.

We stand there for a few seconds, just watching the moving picture, before James starts laughing.

"They even caught the eye roll!" James exclaims, grinning. "You know, I still can't believe you rolled your eyes at me mid-proposal."

I scoff at that. "Yeah, well, I still can't believe you said I'm a 'great shag' mid-proposal."

He looks at me smugly. "I wasn't wrong though, was I?"

"Considering I've never shagged myself, I wouldn't know."

"Smartass," he shoots back. "You'll just have to take my word for it then, I guess."

I just hum in response, and he pulls me even closer to his side. "You could prove it right now, you know."

"We both have to be at work in just a little bit," I say reasonably, wiggling out of his grip and untying my dressing gown.

"Besides," I continue, moving to stand in front of him and wrapping my arms around his neck, "if you're getting birthday sex, you're getting it tonight when I can do the thing properly, and not just as a quickie."

As I move, my dressing gown falls open, revealing the dark red lace-covered bra and knickers underneath. Originally, this was meant to be a gift for much later in the day, but the opportunity to tease him is just too perfect to pass up.

His eyes go wide and his lips part slightly, suggesting that my actions have had the  _exact_ intended effect I was looking for. One of my hands leaves its place on his neck, sliding down his chest and abdomen as he noticeably tenses under my touch.

I stop when my hand meets the waistband of his joggers, and I step away from him completely. "Just a little preview," I say coyly, starting back up the stairs so I can go and actually get ready for work.

James closes his eyes, leaning his head back and groaning loudly. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that?"

I giggle at that.

I'm fully dressed and in the middle of doing my makeup by the time James comes back upstairs, holding both his cup of coffee and the one that I'd left downstairs. He sets mine down on the counter and leans against the doorframe of the bathroom, taking a long sip of his own drink.

"When I get absolutely nothing accomplished at work today, I'm blaming you," he says conversationally.

"Good."

He smiles at that in a way that makes my heart pick up pace, even though I'm only watching him out of the corner of my eye in the mirror.

"I think I finally got Freddy to relent on the whole 'boys' night' thing, by the way," he adds.

For some strange reason, Freddy decided last week that James' birthday should be an all-blokes affair, on account of it being his 'last birthday as an unmarried man' or some other garbage. James hadn't been too keen on the idea when it had been proposed, and, at the time, neither had I.

I start searching for my contour brush. "Oh?"

"Yeah, he said as long as it was a boys' night for the first few drinks, that was all that mattered. So you should come meet us at Vipertooth at eight-ish."

"Okay," I reply, finally finding the tool I needed. In truth, I'd kind of gotten used to the idea that I wasn't going to be going out tonight, and that I'd be able to maybe get a nap in before James got back from the bar. My sleep habits have been abysmal at best as of late, and I'd been looking forward to finally catching up just a little bit.

"Brilliant," he says, before disappearing from the doorway again, undoubtedly to actually get ready for work himself.

 

* * *

 

 

I get home from the Ministry far later than what's typical for a Friday afternoon, and I'm lugging a massive stack of files to dig through over the weekend.

At our meeting on Monday, the decision had been made by the majority of the team that we weren't going to focus any more effort on finding commonalities in the victim files; neither Greitens or I had made any real headway, so the majority of the team voted to shut it down.

Which I think is absolutely ridiculous.

But I'm stuck adhering to majority rule, and the decision was that we wouldn't put work hours into this side project any more. Which means my only option, if I want to keep digging, is to do it in my off-hours, and pray that my intuition is right, that somethingfinally shows up, and that I'm not entirely wasting what little free time I have left on a question without an answer.

I check the clock in the kitchen - I've got less than an hour before I'm meant to meet up with James, but I might as well start making some progress on the files I've got with me first.

I pull the first folder off the stack - labelled  _Miranda Himelbaum_ \- and start flipping through it. I've gone through a number of these files once before, and this one's a repeat. She was 19 - not even two years out of school. I never met her when I was at Hogwarts, but she would've only been a year or two below me.

Grappling with the reality of that isn't any better the second time around.

Since she was so young, her file's thinner than most - no work records, or marriage licenses, or Gringotts accounts.

Instead, I find myself looking at her NEWT results - all reasonably high, but a strange mix of subjects. History of Magic, Astronomy, Divination, and Muggle Studies - not exactly the combination of subjects that's going to lead you straight into a decent-paying job after graduation.

Really, it's no wonder she was just working at a café after graduation.

And then I have to stop myself, because honestly, who do I think I am, judging a dead person on their career choices?

But I do find myself somewhat curious about what her OWL scores looked like - what drove her to pick that strange combination of classes - so I look through her file for those. It takes a few moments to unearth it, but I eventually get my hands on the results.

The scores aren't great - most of them are downright abysmal actually - but she scraped passable scores in Charms and Transfiguration, so why she chose not to continue either of those is beyond me.

What catches my eye more than anything, though, is the Troll in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

I don't even understand how it's  _possible_  to score that poorly on that exam - although I admit that I'm probably somewhat biased since I managed an O easily. But still, to fail like that, you'd have to absolutely bomb the practical portion of the exam. You'd have to be barely able to manage the most basic protective spells.

You'd have to be terrible at defending yourself.

You'd have to be an easy target.

Before I can stop myself, my mind is reeling. What if  _this_  is it? What if  _this_  is the thing all the victims in common?

It would certainly explain how they were able to take so many people down at once, if none of them were even slightly competent at defensive magic. They would've never even touched NEWT material, and probably wouldn't have been able to fight the compulsory magic of the notes they all received, much less defended themselves against the actual attack.

But I'm getting ahead of myself - I've only got one file out after all - so I get up and grab a second one. In the process, I notice the time - it's almost eight.

It won't be so bad if James gets his boys' night after all so I can chase this theory, right?

I grab a spare piece of parchment and a quill, jotting down a quick note.

 

_James,_

_Working late. Have fun with the boys - I'll see you when you get home and I'll give you the second half of your birthday present. Love you xx_

_Abby_

 

I go upstairs to find James' owl, giving it the note. "Take this to James at the Vipertooth, alright?"

To be quite honest, I have no idea what the logistics of sending an owl to deliver a message into a bar is going to look like, but I know he'll get it somehow.

The owl takes off, and I head back down the the kitchen table, pulling open the second file. This one's much thicker, so that - compounded by the fact that these files have absolutely no organizational system to them whatsoever - means that it takes me longer to find what I'm looking for.

When I find the OWL results, there's yet another Troll staring back at me.

Holy…

_Holy shit,_ this might be it.

I grab a third file - desperate to prove that this is the link. It's going to be awful if I've gotten my hopes up this high over two files and it turns out to be nothing, but there's a feeling in my gut that tells me I'm right about this.

After at least an hour of rifling through papers, I've got every OWL result from the twenty-five files I'd brought home arranged in front of me. And sure enough, nearly all of them have a T in Defence; there's a few D's and P's in there as well, but the moral of the story is the same.

Every person that was killed last month failed their Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL. They were specifically picked because they wouldn't be able to properly defend themselves against an attack.

Which is… totally repugnant in and of itself. Preying on people because you know they're weak is absolutely abhorrent, morally.

Although, I suppose, these people  _did_ kill over a hundred people, so I really shouldn't be all that surprised by a total lack of morals.

But something's still missing - you don't just go after people  _because_ they're weak. There's got to be something else on top of it, but this is something major - this is proof that there's a strategy to who they targeted and a message they were trying to send.

I go upstairs and change into silky pyjama pants and one of James' old Weasley sweaters, rolling the way-too-long sleeves up to my elbows. It's perhaps not the sexiest outfit for James to come home to, but the townhouse is freezing, and I've still got the lacy lingerie on underneath.

When I get back to the kitchen table, the chaos in front of me is almost intimidating. In my rush to prove my own theory, I'd thrown files everywhere and spread them out in ways that don't even make sense.

So I organise things again, recording each person's OWL scores on a piece of parchment, and restoring each file to its original state - although really, it's not like they were all that well-arranged before tonight anyways. But at least they're not spread across my living area.

With a clear table in front of me and my findings boiled down to a piece of paper, my mind's a lot clearer - I can start trying to figure out the  _why_.

There's a loud rapping on the front door, effectively ruining my concentration.

Honestly, who on earth could be visiting at this hour? The only person I'm expecting at any point tonight is James, who'd just Apparate straight in.

I leave the kitchen table and head to the front door, wand in hand. Perhaps I'm being overly paranoid, but I  _have_ spent the better part of an evening researching murder victims, so my caution feels warranted.

But while I may have thought through that possibility, I'm completely unprepared for the actual sight awaiting me on the other side of the door.

Freddy's standing there, arm wrapped around James, who looks like he's leaning all his body weight on his cousin. At first I worry that James has been hurt somehow, but then I catch the dopey expression on his face and realise that that's not the case.

"I think he probably had a little too much to drink tonight," Freddy says, by way of explanation. "He got your note and things just… went downhill from there, I guess."

As if he felt the need to prove Freddy's point, James takes this moment to lean forward and vomit all over the entryway.

"You think?" I say snarkily to Freddy, before pulling out my wand and vanishing the mess, adding a  _Scourgify_ for good measure.

"I can stay, you know, if you need help with - " Freddy gestures vaguely at the bloke still leaning on his arm.

I sigh, truthfully a bit louder than necessary. "No, I can handle him," I reply, before reaching out and grabbing one of James' hands. "Come on, hun, let's get you to bed."

Luckily for me, James obliges quite willingly, holding my hand a little bit tighter and stumbling away from Freddy.  _Honestly_ , people are right when they say drunk people are a bit like toddlers.

"I've got him," I say. "Thanks for making sure he didn't, like, end up in a ditch or something."

"My pleasure," Freddy says, saluting me dramatically, and for the first time I realize that he's definitely a more than little intoxicated as well. I have to remind myself not to be annoyed at him as well, because at least  _he's_  at a somewhat reasonable level of drunkenness - unlike my fiancé.

"Goodnight, Freddy," I tell him, entrusting him with the task of closing the door while I drag James upstairs.

And even though I initially said I was just getting him to bed, I quickly realise that he smells so strongly like alcohol that I need to change my plan of action.

"Where were you tonight?" he asks, his words running together sloppily.

"I was here," I reply simply, knowing that we're going to inevitably repeat this conversation in the morning anyways. I doubt he'll remember much of this in the morning.

Once we get into the bathroom, I look at him, praying he'll at least follow some basic instruction. "Strip."

He does as he's told, shrugging his jacket off and pulling his shirt over his head, but apparently runs into problems when he gets to his shoes. He sits on the floor, looking up at me with puppy-dog eyes. "Help?"

I can't resist rolling my eyes, even though I know the effect will be lost on him, before untying his stupid shoes for him and getting him into the shower. I actually don't even trust him not to slip and crack his own skull open in this state, so I follow him in, pyjamas and all, although the mood is decidedly different from most times we're both in this shower together.

Under the stream of the hot water, I catch him studying me. "That was really fucking mean of you, you know," he says, and I've only got somewhat of a clue of what he's talking about.

"Yeah, well, we both made mistakes tonight then."

Once he no longer smells like an entire bar, I flip the water off, grabbing a towel for him and drying off the soaked ends of my pyjamas with my wand.

"I'm really fucking drunk." He looks suddenly serious. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," I tell him, even though it's not. "It happens. Just… warn me if you're about to puke again, yeah?"

He nods, and I go off in pursuit of pyjamas for him - or, at the very least, a pair of pants.

It takes longer than it should, but eventually James is clothed, in bed, with a wastebasket conjured next to him just in case.

And even though part of me is tempted to continue working on the case, it  _is_ almost one in the morning, and dealing with James has completely thrown off my focus, so I decide that it'll have to wait until the morning.

In truth, I'm so incredibly pissed off at him right now - for getting this drunk when we're supposed to be past drinking like stupid teenagers, for derailing the plans I'd originally had for him when he got home, and for ruining my concentration on what could very well be the biggest breakthrough of the case and the first discovery that makes the rest of the group take me seriously.

But raising those issues now won't solve anything; with how much James has had to drink tonight, trying to get him to understand - much less  _remember_ \- what he's done wrong is most likely impossible.

I crawl under the covers on my side of the bed, before James' voice rings out from the other side.

"I love you, you know?" His words are still slurred, but clear enough to understand nonetheless. "So fucking much."

"And I love you too," I say in response - because it  _is_  true, even though it seems like he's trying his best to make that impossible to do right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 11…
> 
> "Maybe it was because - hm, I don't know - my own fiancée stood me up?"
> 
> "I didn't stand you up!" I insist, again. "It was supposed to be a boys' night anyways, and I sent you a note. So don't you dare try to blame your actions on me."
> 
> "You sent a note - how nice," he replies, sarcasm practically dripping off of him. "You skipped out on something that was important to me, and the only justification I got from you was a tiny fucking note. Now tell me, Abby, why does that sound so goddamn familiar?"
> 
> It takes me a moment to recover from the shock of his response. How dare he bring that night and my terrible past relationship into this.
> 
> I narrow my eyes at him. "Those are two very different things, and you know it."


	11. Complexity #11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Sleeping on it' won't always resolve the problem.

I'm up early the next morning - which is surprising, given how late I'd gotten to bed. James is still fast asleep on the other side of the bed, and I imagine he'll be like that for a while. And even when he  _does_ eventually wake up, there's no doubt he'll be superbly hungover after his drinking episode last night.

Merlin. I get that we all occasionally drink too much, but did he really have to do that last night of all nights?

I better be getting a damn good apology out of that boy when he wakes up.

But for now, I get out of bed and get into the shower - since I didn't actually get a proper shower last night, I feel like I need one now. I undress, and realise that I never actually took off the lacy underthings I'd been wearing for James' arrival last night.

It's yet another reminder of how much better last night could've been if he hadn't come home the way that he did.

Once I'm showered and dressed, I head downstairs to make myself coffee and breakfast. As soon as I've got food and caffeine, I sit back down at the kitchen table, looking over all the things sitting on the table, unmoved from where they were when Freddy knocked on the door last night.

As I start to revisit the pile of files from last night and the hasty notes I'd made, I hear the distinct sound of movement upstairs - the telltale sign that James is awake. I shove the papers back where they came from, waiting for him to come downstairs.

He comes down the stairs a few minutes later; I know he sees me watching him, but instead of adopting any sort of guilty expression or moving to apologise, like I'd expect him to do at this point, he just ignores me entirely. I feel my jaw actually drop when he just walks right by the table where I'm sitting and into the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee and rifling through the pantry without even acknowledging me once.

What on earth?

I take another sip of my coffee, setting my mug down on the table loudly, and hoping the resulting noise will get James to look over at me.

But he doesn't even flinch. I think about actually saying something to him - but then I stop myself. I refuse to be the person who speaks first. I'm still mad at him anyways - and I feel like I deserve an apology before I talk to him.

Luckily, the  _Prophet_ arrives, giving me something to occupy myself with other than watching James cook eggs. There's nothing particularly newsworthy in the paper today, but reading every last inch of it allows me to completely ignore James until he's finished cooking and has taken his breakfast into the living room.

The shock of him completely ignoring me somehow overshadows the additional surprise that he's somehow not unbearably hungover after all of that. I know he's always had a high tolerance, but making it through  _that_ much drinking and still not feeling it has got to be something of a miracle.

The rest of the morning continues in much the same fashion: James and I constantly crossing paths - our place is only so big, after all - but neither one of us saying anything to the other. The silence is surprisingly stifling, and I'm dying to know if it's killing him like it's killing me.

But the annoyed glares I occasionally catch James sending in my direction suggest that he has absolutely no intention of backing down anytime soon.

So when we both go to make lunch at the same time, I finally crack.

"Can you pass me the bread?" I ask, doing my best to keep my tone flat. But it actually  _is_ on the other side of him, and I can't exactly get to it without his assistance.

He shoves the loaf at me with more force than necessary, and that's the moment when I snap.

"What's  _wrong_  with you?"

"You know exactly what's wrong," he replies coldly, not even bothering to look at me.

"No, I don't."

He sets down the knife he was holding, and faces me properly for the first time all day. "Don't give me that shit, Abby."

"I'm not 'giving you' anything," I shoot back, using air quotes for emphasis. "I want to know what you think I did wrong."

"What I  _think_ you - " he trails off. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"We've already established that I'm not," I say. "So just give me a straight answer."

"Fine!" he snaps, the previous expressionless look giving way to something much angrier. "I'm pissed that you didn't bother showing up to our night out last night!"

When he says it like that, it sounds like I stood him up or something, which I  _definitely_ didn't do. I wasn't even technically invited in the first place, after all.

"I couldn't come - I was working!"

"But was anyone actually forcing you to stay in and work all evening?" he asks, not giving me a chance to actually answer him before he continues. "Because last I checked, my dad has a pretty strict rule on not working evenings on Fridays unless, like, the world is imploding."

He's not wrong about that, I suppose; Harry's big on making sure all the Aurors have time to spend with their friends and family on the weekends. But that rule doesn't take into account the fact that what I was working on last night wasn't technically part of an official assignment.

But I don't give him that concession out loud. "I'm  _sorry_  that I figured out a giant link last night - doesn't explain why you got so drunk I had to pretty much carry you to bed last night."

He pretends to think about it for a moment. "Maybe it was because - hm, I don't know - my own fiancée stood me up?"

"I didn't stand you up!" I insist, again. "It was supposed to be a boys' night anyways, and I sent you a note. So don't you dare try to blame your actions on me."

"You sent a note - how nice," he replies, the sarcasm practically dripping off of him. "You skipped out on something that was important to me, and the only justification I got from you was a tiny fucking note. Now tell me, Abby, why does that sound so goddamn familiar?"

It takes me a moment to recover from the shock of his response. How  _dare_  he bring that night and my terrible past relationship into this.

I narrow my eyes at him. "Those are two  _very_ different things, and you know it."

I'm right on that one, but he doesn't apologize for saying it. "They're similar enough for you to understand how much it hurt me!"

And I feel a stab of guilt at that, and perhaps if I were calmer, this might be the moment that I would relent and apologize. But as it stands, there's a hot flash of righteous anger coursing through my veins that won't let me back down.

"You could've had both, you know?" I snap. "You could've just hung out with the boys  _like you were meant to do all along_ , and come home to me afterwards. It would've been a perfect night for both of us if you hadn't gotten so ridiculously drunk."

"My perfect night involved you there the whole time!" he replies. "I don't get what's so fucking hard to understand about that. And instead you decided that some case mattered more than me."

He walks out of the kitchen and into the living room, trying to get the last word, but I won't let him do that. This isn't over.

"You're overreacting," I reply, and he turns back to look at me. "And as for this case, these are peoples  _lives_  at stake, James - so yes, this matters a whole lot. I'm sorry that you have a terrible job you don't like and you don't know what that's like, but mine's important to me."

I watch as my words make impact, and regret them almost immediately. It's a bit of a sore subject that I really shouldn't be bringing into this argument, but it's a bit too late to take it back. And he brought Blaise into this, so I don't think there are any boundaries anymore.

James opens his mouth to respond, but instead of saying anything, he's closing the space between us and crashing his mouth to mine.

Everything about this kiss feels angry - from the way his fingers are digging into my hips to the way he takes my bottom lip between his teeth before pulling back for the briefest of moments - but it doesn't stop me from letting out an unconscious whimper the moment our lips are apart. It's almost as if he's kissing me for the sole purpose of shutting me up.

But for all the frustration that he's channeling into this, I'm giving it back just as aggressively. I've got one hand coiled tightly in his hair and another on his shoulder, my nails undoubtedly leaving half-moon-shaped indents on his skin.

The sensible part of me knows this isn't good, and that this certainly isn't going to solve anything, but another, larger part of me knows this is just so much easier than fighting.

We're not good at fighting. But we're good at this.

And in a matter of minutes, our clothes are almost entirely gone and we're on the couch. James' weight is pressing down on me, and normally this would be the point where I'd shift gears and take control, because I've always needed at least some of it. But right now, I find that I don't mind this - that I'm content to let him take the lead, because it feels like he's absolutely everywhere at once and somehow that's just enough to drown out all coherent thought.

And Merlin, if that isn't what I need right now.

I bite down on his shoulder when I come, and he follows a few moments later, swearing loudly a few times before going quiet again - and for just a little while, the world is silent except the sound of our heavy breathing.

And then he rolls off of me and starts gathering up his clothes - minus the one sock that somehow never came off to begin with - and reality comes crashing down again. He's at least got the decency to conjure up a towel for me to clean myself up with, but other than that, he doesn't even acknowledge me in any way as he gets dressed and then proceeds to just walk out the front door.

I never realised just how acutely I'd feel the absence of the little forehead kisses he always gives me when we're done - just how harsh it would feel to not have him hold me afterwards, sharing whispered conversations in our own little bubble.

We've never fought like this. We've never had the type of fight that can't be resolved by James making a dumb joke or me being sarcastic about something - and we've certainly never had the type of fight that results in having sex on our couch and James storming out wordlessly afterwards.

And while I felt justified in my anger just a short while ago, I can't help but feel guilty for it now. I'm still not convinced James was in the right or I was in the wrong, but I hate that we've been brought to this instead.

Honestly, would it really have killed him to just admit that he'd messed up?

I gather my clothes off the floor and head into the bathroom, and can't help but pause at the person looking back at me. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair tousled - going off of my external appearance alone, you'd never guess I've just finished off the most dramatic fight with my fiancé that we've ever had. The reflection doesn't even begin to capture just how much my mind is reeling right now.

Afterwards, I walk into the kitchen, cleaning up the mess from the lunch that neither James nor I ate (and that I've got no appetite for now anyways), and I do my best not to think about anything too much.

Given my massive propensity to overthink everything, that one doesn't go too well.

 

* * *

 

It's not until quite a few hours later that James reappears again; the telltale  _pop_ near the entryway tells me he's just Apparated in. I want to talk to him - and to figure out where on earth he's been for the last few hours - but I'm not… I'm not sure what the protocol for this type of situation is.

Since he's the one who walked out, do I wait for him to speak first? Or is he going to go back to ignoring me again, forcing me to be the one to start the conversation again - although, ideally, with less yelling this time?

My multitude of questions is answered for me when James enters the living room. "I'm sorry."

I look up from my book to see him standing a few feet away, one hand at the back of his neck as he rocks back and forth on his toes. "I shouldn't have overreacted as much to you not showing up last night, and I shouldn't have gotten as drunk as I did."

As much as I've been wanting an apology from James all day, I truthfully hadn't given much thought to how I'd react once it actually happened.

"I just -  _you're_  the one I wanted to celebrate with," he continues. " _You_. I mean, don't get me wrong, Freddy and Simon and Louis are great, but… you're you. Fuck, you're the person I want to spend all my birthdays with, and not just going out with the boys and coming home to you. You're one of the most important people in my life, you know, so it… it hurt that you chose that over me."

I set my book down and stand up. Merlin, he sure is laying the guilt trip on thick - and I do feel bad, especially now that he's apologised (although why he couldn't have done that five hours ago is beyond me).

"I didn't - I didn't know it meant that much to you," I admit honestly.

"Well, it did."

"And I never meant for you to feel like I stood you up," I add, crossing the room to stand in front of him, "because I know how that feels, and it's… it's not good."

"I know," he says. "And I shouldn't have brought Blaise into that argument - you not coming out to a guys' night is a very different thing than you being fully stood up because he was with Scarlett instead."

Even after all these years and all that separation from the incident, the reminder of what went down between my boyfriend and my best friend still stings a little. But I push that thought to the back of my mind, because that's not relevant right now. "And I shouldn't have brought up your work situation. That was just… it wasn't necessary."

"Yeah," James replies. And there's a moment of silence, before he looks at me questioningly. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Aren't you going to apologize too?" he asks, crossing his arms.

And I thought I had, but I guess James wants to hear the actual words. "I, er, yeah - I'm sorry for not coming out last night."

"Thank you," he says, arms falling back by his sides again.

"So are we - are we good?" I ask cautiously. Which is strange, because caution isn't a thing I've ever really associated with James - not in recent years, at least.

"Yeah," he replies, closing the space between us and wrapping his arms around me before pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, as if making up for the lack of that affection earlier today. "We're good."

"Good," I repeat, wrapping my arms around him as well and doing my best to ignore the sinking sensation in my stomach that's telling me what happened today runs so much deeper than the dumb little things we just apologized for.

Because yes, we've apologized for the things that we said. But I don't think that's the end of it; all those comments and actions are only a result of something bigger, some deeper-seated conflict that feels like it's been brewing for a while now and is only just bubbling to the surface. And I don't even understand it fully, don't quite know what's fueling all of this; I just can sense it there, and that's somehow worse, because even if I wanted to say something to address it, I don't know what I'd say.

There's so many undercurrents of mounting disagreements - and the fact that we've both proven just how adept we are at finding the things that hurt the other the most. All of that, combined with the fact that we're in the middle of trying to plan a wedding and we can't seem to stay out of the news for some fabricated scandal for more than a week at a time.

I'm not sure there's anyone in the world who could take that, and I've got a bad feeling.

 

* * *

 

Sunday passes relatively uneventfully, and when I get to the office on Monday morning, I try my best to not let my weird weekend affect my work too much.

The first person I go to is Markus, because I'm quite sure he's the only person who will hear me out on this, and I need someone on my side if I'm going to bring this up in our meeting today.

"You look entirely too excited for a Monday morning," he comments when I walk into his shared office space, taking a sip of his coffee.

"I figured something out this weekend, and I think it's big," I tell him.

"Related to the case?"

"Yeah," I answer.

"Damn, that's dedication," he replies. "Working on the week - wait, this was related to the files, wasn't it?"

I'd told Markus last week that I was thinking about continuing the research on my own time; he'd been one of the only other people in support of continuing the search, and as a result, one of my few allies on this thing.

"It was."

He shakes his head, letting out a short bark of a laugh. "You're really gonna piss some people off with that one, you know."

"I know," I reply. "But I can't just… not bring this up either."

I've been thinking about that fact for a while, honestly - how, if I  _did_ find anything in these files, it was going to mean I'd have to admit I was working on the project under the table. And there's more than one person on the team who's going to be less-than-pleased with me for that, because they still expect me to be the ever-obedient junior Auror who follows along with their plans.

I have been that person, for the most part, letting their snide comments and sharp commands slide off of me with little more than a sigh and a nod, but this lead was an exception. And I'm going to get some blowback for it, I  _know_ that, but the alternative is ignoring a piece of information that could prove central to getting to the bottom of this, and staying silent on this somehow feels so much worse than whatever consequences I'll face as a result.

And so for the first time in what feels like a very long time, I'm standing up for myself on this one.

"Damn, Abby, this  _must_ be big then," he replies, his previous laughter giving way to a more stoic expression. "What is it?"

"Proof that there was intentional choice of targets," I reply, pulling my notes out of my bag, and opening up to the page from Friday night. "Every single target I've looked at failed their Defense OWL - most of them pathetically so."

"So they were intentionally going for easy targets," Markus says, looking over my notes for himself.

"Yeah," I confirm. "And it's - it's got to mean something else beyond just picking weak targets. There's got to be a message behind it, I think. I just… I ran out of time to work on that particular question this weekend."

"Well yeah, I should hope you weren't spending your whole weekend on this." He leans back from reading my notes. "You said it was James' birthday weekend, wasn't it? So I'd assume you were a little busy with that one, yeah?"

If 'that one' accounts for both the birthday itself and the resulting aftershocks, then yeah, I suppose I was occupied by it for the majority of the weekend.

Instead of saying any of that out loud, I just laugh. "Oh yeah, it was a crazy one."

"I bet," Markus agrees. "Enjoy it while it lasts - you turn twenty-five and suddenly birthdays are significantly less fun and involve way worse hangovers."

"I'll do my best," I say. "Now come on, we've got a meeting to get to, and I'm sure you'd like a front row seat to me sticking my neck out on the line with this one."

"I'll bring popcorn," he replies with a wink, before getting serious again. "But seriously, I'll back you up on this one. Embarrassing some senior Aurors for abandoning a project prematurely is more than worth it if it means we get one step closer to stopping this thing before it gets worse."

I sure hope both he and my instinct are right in that regard.

We end up being the first two people into the conference room, so I distractedly doodle on the corner of my notes while the remainder of the team files in. I'm afraid that my face will give something away if I look at anyone right now, so I content myself with drawing hearts and filling them in with ink until they're solid black.

It's not until Hyslop stands at the front of the room and asks, "Any updates?" that I look up at the room. It doesn't escape me that Harry's not in this meeting at all.

But despite that, I force myself to speak. "Yes, actually - I've got one."

And instantly, all eyes are on me, expressions ranging from intrigued to disinterested to vaguely annoyed.

I get the feeling those vaguely annoyed ones are about to get a good bit worse in a few minutes.

I decide it's best to just bite the bullet. "There's a link between all the victims."

"I thought we weren't pursuing that line of questioning anymore," Kitchens says, sounding genuinely confused.

"We weren't," Greitens chimes in, noticeably gruffer.

"And I wasn't," I say, already on the defensive. "Not on work hours, at least. But I had a hunch this weekend, and I checked it, and I was right."

There's almost immediately some grumbling about going against orders, but surprisingly enough, Randall's the one who shuts it down. "And what did you find out?"

"Every one of the victims failed their Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL," I say, and in front of all these serious faces, it suddenly sounds way less cool than it did when I first made the discovery. "So there was… these people weren't just chosen at random. This is proof that there was premeditation."

There's a moment of silence as everyone processes that information, and Kitchens is the one who breaks it. "That's all well and good, but how does that get us any closer to figuring this thing out?"

Really, you'd think the one other woman on the team would be at least  _somewhat_ more supportive.

"It tells us they were trying to send a message, which gets us one step closer to identifying a motive," a voice says, and I'm a little shocked to realise that it's Hyslop who's come to my defense.

The two most senior Aurors on the case, and they're somehow agreeing with  _me_  on this. Even though I technically went over their heads to get here.

Honestly, thank Merlin. I've needed  _something_  to go my way lately.

"And it means they were intentionally picking people who they knew were easy targets for some reason," Markus adds.

And then a realisation hits me like a lightning bolt - that epiphany I'd been at the edge of on Friday night finally hitting the precipice. "And it narrows the suspect list too," I say, and it feels oddly like an out-of-body experience. "Because it's got to involve someone who had access to people's scores in the first place. You couldn't make that decision without knowing who'd failed in the first place."

There's yet another prolonged silence, although this time, it's not because someone's trying to come up with yet another way to shoot me down. For once, I've said something that no one can challenge.

It's a  _rush_.

"So we start looking more closely at Ministry employees with access to the records department, and Hogwarts staff," Hyslop says, and his tone leaves no room for questioning.

I sit back down, still feeling like I'm in a bit of a trance. Between the rare instance in which the senior Aurors aren't questioning my every move and the fact that I've experienced a massive epiphany in the middle of a meeting, it's hard for me to think straight.

The meeting itself continues on, and I stay as focused as I can, only succumbing to the temptation of doodling more black hearts on the top of my page once.

It's only when the meeting ends and everyone files out that Hyslop reaches out and grabs me by the arm, holding me back.

"Going over your superiors to chase a hunch - that was a risky move, Winchester," he says, and I can't help but feel like I'm about to be disciplined for that stunt of mine.

But instead, his next comment takes me by surprise. "I'm impressed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points to anyone who can identify the two blatant Taylor Swift references in this chapter. I obviously had a playlist going.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 12…
> 
> "Sorry, I know we're late." I recognize the voice as Molly's, but take slight pause at 'we,' because I wasn't aware she was bringing anyone.
> 
> "You haven't missed much," I say. "The Wasps have scored once, but not much else interesting has happened."
> 
> "Other than an absolutely brilliant save by Huxley," James adds, still watching his favourite Keeper ardently.
> 
> "No one cares about Keeper stats but you, James," Molly says with a laugh, sitting down next to me.
> 
> I look over to see her, still holding hands with the pretty blonde I'd come to know as Zara from all of Molly's conversations about her.


	12. Complexity #12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't air your dirty laundry.

I've been to the Wasps stadium a number of times before, but nothing ever really quite prepares me for the shock of just how  _big_ it is. If I thought the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch was large, it's absolutely nothing compared to this monstrosity.

And even with it being as large as it is, the game today is still sold out. Arrows vs. Wasps is still one of the biggest Quidditch rivalries in the English League, and this game has always been an exceptionally popular one.

But the perks of having their starting Beater for a friend is that we've gotten box seats to every one of them.

"Come on, we're this way," James says, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and leading me in the direction of our box.

We must look like such a strange pair, with James in his Arrows jersey - the non-autographed one, as he still protects the autographed one with his life - and me in a Wasps one with Dom's name emblazoned across the back.

Ironically, it does occasionally feel like we  _are_  on opposite teams lately.

We haven't fought again like last weekend, but there's definitely something different in the air between us. While everything between us once felt as natural as breathing, there have definitely been times where our conversation has felt forced - like we're tip-toeing around what happened or trying to pretend it didn't.

It feels wrong, but I don't know how to address it either.

So instead I let him lead me up to our box, which is in a different spot than normal, but gives us a better view of the Arrows Keeper - which is undoubtedly what James will pay the most attention to in this match, anyways.

We're the first people in the box, although I know Molly's meant to be joining us as well. Amelie was supposed to come as well, but ended up tied up in some sort of fiasco at Mungo's.

The box comes equipped with a mini-bar, so James immediately grabs two alcoholic butterbeers and pops the lid off both of them.

He holds one out to me. "Don't worry, I'm taking it slow today."

It's those little comments that I don't really know what to do with. There's something in his tone that I can't quite pick out, but it feels off.

I settle for, "That's good," before grabbing my drink from him and heading to our seats.

By the time we're seated, they're announcing the players' names as they fly out onto the field. James cheers when Huxley flies out onto the field, but cheers with equal enthusiasm when Dom's name is called as well.

Team loyalty may run deep, but family loyalty runs deeper amongst the Potter/Weasley clan.

We're close enough to the gameplay itself that we don't have to use Omnioculars to watch - which is good, because those give me a headache - and as a result, I can see clearly as Dom and Rajhi do their strange pre-game handshake. I've never understood it much, but it's apparently a tradition of theirs that started not long after she decked him in the face on their first day.

Which is a separate story altogether, really.

One of the Wasps Chasers gets the Quaffle first, driving it down towards the goalposts. I watch the game close enough, but most of my attention is directed towards Dom.

James' hand comes to rest on my leg, and I start distractedly tracing the outline of his fingers against my thigh.

"Sorry, I know we're late." I recognize the voice as Molly's, but take slight pause at 'we,' because I wasn't aware she was bringing anyone.

"You haven't missed much," I say. "The Arrows have scored once, but not much else interesting has happened."

"Other than an absolutely brilliant save by Huxley," James adds, still watching his favourite Keeper ardently.

"No one cares about Keeper stats but you, James," Molly says with a laugh, sitting down next to me.

I look over to see her, still holding hands with the pretty blonde I'd come to know as Zara from all of Molly's conversations about her.

The girl smiles brightly. "Hi, Abby, right? I'm Zara, Molly's girlfriend."

Well, that happened fast. They only just went on their first date last week, so it's a bit surprising that they've moved to officially dating so quickly.

But Molly looks the happiest I've seen her in awhile, so I don't question it much.

"It's so nice to meet you," I reply, returning her smile with one of my own. "This is my fiancé, James."

At the mention of his name, James tears his eyes from Huxley's flying figure to give Zara a one-handed wave. "Pleasure."

"There's drinks at the bar in the back, by the way," I add, holding up my own bottle as an example.

"Oh perfect," Molly says, and both her and Zara get up to go check out the selection.

As soon as it's just the two of us, James looks over at me, eyebrows knitted in confusion.  _Girlfriend?_ , he mouths silently.  _That happened fast?_

I just shrug in response, because I've got no greater intel on this situation than he does.

I start watching the game just in time to see Dom and Rajhi hit Bludgers at the same time, completely derailing the Arrows Seeker from his path. I'm still no Quidditch expert, but I do know that was an excellent play.

"Atta girl Dom!" I say out loud, even though being in a box means no one can actually hear us cheer anyways.

"Those two really are incredible together," James agrees.

 

* * *

 

The game ends at a score of 240-150 - as great as Huxley's Keeping skills were, the Wasps Seeker was much more on top of his game today than the Arrows' was.

At least, that's James' assessment of the game, and I've accepted that his take on a game is likely much more accurate than mine is. Even if he is always biased towards paying too much attention to the Keepers.

After the stadium starts to clear out, we all head towards the one hole-in-the-wall bar that Dom and Rajhi love so much - in fairness, their favouritism towards it is probably at least somewhat informed by the fact that it doesn't usually fill up with fans quite as fast as anything along the main road here does after a game.

The four of us grab a table at the back - and six shots of firewhisky - and wait for the two guests of honour to show up.

And not even five minutes later, they both do, Rajhi laughing at something while Dom reaches shoves him in the arm good-naturedly.

"Six shots just for me?" Rajhi says when he gets to the table. "Damn, you shouldn't have."

"Oh please," Dom replies, rolling her eyes. "You'd have to have played  _way_  better to have earned six shots."

"That joint move on Orlov was worth at least three shots," he retorts, sliding into the booth next to Molly, while Dom joins me on the other side.

"And, hm, let me think, who came up with that one?" Dom asks, still oblivious to anyone's presence but Rajhi's, apparently. "Oh right, me. And I say everyone gets  _one_ each - you know, the way these were obviously  _meant_ to be distributed."

"Have it your way then," Rajhi says, smirking a little at her.

I share a look with Molly - I've been telling her about my thoughts on Rajhi and Dom for ages now, but she hasn't seen the two of them together as much as I have. I think she definitely gets my point now, though.

"Now that we've gotten  _that_  sorted," Dom continues, divvying out the shot glasses, "bottoms up?"

And so we all quickly down our shots, and I feel the familiar rush of warmth zip through my veins.

"Oh!" Dom says, as soon as she puts her glass down. "You must be Zara, right?"

"The one and only," she replies. "You two played brilliantly today, by the way."

"Thank you," Dom says, smiling.

"We always do," Rajhi adds, because the boy is incapable of taking a compliment modestly. "So how do you know Molly?"

"I'm her girlfriend," Zara answers, resting her hand on top of Molly's atop the table.

And Dom lacks the filter that I had, because her immediate response is, "Well shit, that happened fast."

Zara shrugs. "I'm a big believer in committing all the way or not at all. Hanging around in limbo for a few weeks before 'defining the relationship' isn't my thing, really."

I'd already taken a liking to Zara for a multitude of reasons - most of them involving how happy Molly looks - but that comment kind of solidifies it for me. Molly needs someone who doesn't string her along or mess around like Davies did at the start of that relationship, and Zara seems perfect for that.

I also realize that I'm most definitely a little hypocritical for admiring that, given just how long James and I actually  _did_ hang around in limbo for before actually getting together.

"I'll buy this round of drinks," Dom volunteers suddenly. "Any preferences?"

She takes everyone's orders, and all but drags my by the elbow to go with her to order them.

"Fuck, that was quick," Dom says, as soon as we're out of earshot.

"Yeah," I reply, "but Molly seems happy about it, so - "

"Oh no, I'm not saying it's a bad thing at all!" Dom says, laughing. "Merlin knows Molly needs  _someone_ to give her a good shove in the right direction every once in a while, but damn. At this rate, with Freddy and Caroline most likely heading the way that they are, I'm about to be the only single one left."

I open my mouth to say something that I know she won't like, but she interrupts me before I get there. "I know what you're going to say, and my answer from December stands. I'm not into him like that, and neither is he."

I know Dom well enough to know that arguing that is a moot point, even if I  _do_ think he's flirting with her. I suppose she knows him better, anyways, but I've honestly never seen him act like he does with her around anyone else.

"I'm just complaining about you guys all being in relationships for fun, anyways," she adds, leaning up against the bar. "I'm not looking to date anyone seriously until I'm in a good position with the National Team - you know how that shit is, you get into a serious relationship and suddenly there's all sorts of rumours that you're gonna get knocked up and it's going to ruin your Quidditch career."

"Which is absurd," I add. "Didn't Ginny play some of her best Quidditch in that year  _after_ Al was born?"

"She did, but until you get a decent number of women on the selection committee who aren't blinded by fucking archaic ideas, I'm stuck playing by their shitty rules," she replies. "Which I don't mind, really - I know you and James are perfectly happy and you  _want_ to do whole marriage thing right now, but I'm honestly content enjoying the single life for the time being."

I have to stop myself from audibly scoffing at 'perfectly happy,' because that  _so_ isn't the case right now. But instead of bringing that up - because now certainly isn't the time, what with Dom talking about the much bigger issue of the sexism of the Quidditch industry - I just nod. "As long as you're happy, that's what matters."

"I am," she says, grinning. "Not to mention - and I don't want to jinx this, but I'm telling you anyways - Reynolds seems to think there's a decent chance of Rajhi and I getting invited to join the National reserves after this season."

"Dom, that's incredible," I say, pulling her into a hug, even though we're standing against a bar and the bartender is quite clearly headed our way to take our orders. "The both of you?"

When I pull back, she nods. "Reynolds seems to think that they'll probably want both of us - something about our playing dynamic being particularly unique. Well, that, and the fact that Rajhi sucks at listening to pretty much anybody else."

If James were here, he'd most definitely make some suggestive comment at that, but I bite my tongue.

"Hi Gregory!" Dom says suddenly, getting the attention of the bartender, before listing off our orders.

I briefly wonder what it says about us that we know the bar staff by name at so many places across England.

He ends up telling us all about some weird thing his daughter did this past week while he makes our drinks. And once we've paid for the round and left him a nice tip, we haul our collection of drinks back to the table with us.

When we rejoin the table, Zara's somehow gotten on the topic of her art business.

"It's nothing much," she says, accepting her cocktail graciously. "It's just some little things I do for fun, and occasionally people buy them."

"They're gorgeous," Molly amends. "She's got a small one on her desk that's all these bright flowers, and it's absolutely stunning."

"Thanks," Zara says, looking at Molly with a sweet smile on her face.

The honeymoon phase is really something, and it looks like Molly's got it bad.

A few rounds go by as we take turns buying, and we find ourselves all pleasantly buzzed. James' hand is resting on my leg, moving further and further up as more drinks go by.

"So how's all the wedding shit going?" Rajhi asks eventually. "I still haven't gotten that exclusive invite I've been promised."

"We're working on it," I promise. "It's been… a busy few weeks, is all."

"Yeah," James says, laughing sharply. "All Abby does these days is work - I hardly see her anymore."

He says it in a joking manner, but something about it most definitely rubs me the wrong way. I feel myself flush, and James' hand on my thigh suddenly feels so much more like burden than a comfort.

Rajhi, for his part, doesn't seem to pick up on the tension - neither does anyone else, really. "Oh yeah, you're still working that big mass murder thing, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I answer. "Although let's not talk about that now, I've got entirely too much alcohol in my system to think about work."

Not to mention James would probably get all sorts of huffy if I dared to start discussing Auror things at a casual get-together.

Rajhi laughs. "Fair enough."

The conversation turns towards some other topic that I only halfway pay attention to, and I use the change in focus to subtly shove James' hand off my leg. I see him turn to look at me out of the corner of my eye, but I pretend to be engrossed in whatever Dom's saying instead of acknowledging him.

But inside, I'm secretly fuming, and trying to put together all the reasons why James' clearly underhanded remark stung as much as it did.

 

* * *

 

The evening wears on, and Molly's hiding yawns behind her hand by the time we finally decide to call it a night.

"I'll see you for lunch on Wednesday?" Molly asks, as we hug goodbye.

"Wouldn't miss it," I answer.

"And we're making plans to go shopping for that Ministry gala at some point, right?" Dom adds, as soon as I turn to her.

Merlin, I don't remember when my schedule got quite so busy. "Of course."

I give Rajhi a friendly hug, and discover that Zara's a hugger by nature when she unexpectedly pulls me in for one as well, even though I'd only met her a few hours prior.

Then James takes my hand, and I feel the familiar sensation of Apparition as we travel from outside a bar in Wimbourne to our own living room in a matter of seconds.

And the moment we're back home, the comment that's been on the tip of my tongue for hours finally comes out. "Honestly, James, was that comment really necessary?"

He looks at me, a bit confused. Clearly, his words didn't have the same impact on him as they did on me. "What?"

"The whole 'I never see Abby anymore because she's always working' thing."

"I don't - "

I cut him off - I've got so much more to say. "Have you learned absolutely  _nothing_  in the past few weeks? Or hell, over the last three years? Everything we say or do gets twisted into some artificial drama and plastered on a newspaper for the whole world to see - I mean, Merlin, all I did was have lunch with a coworker, and it got turned into a cheating scandal! Do you know how quickly someone who might've overheard you will take that to  _Witch Weekly_  and turn it into some story about how our relationship is falling apart?"

The irony that said story would be closer to the truth than anything else they've published doesn't escape me.

"That's fucking absurd, Abby," he replies, not at all attempting to hide the annoyance in his tone.

And with that comment, the careful peace we'd built up over the past week comes crumbling down.

"Is it, though?" I say, hands on my hips.

For as much as he might want to be right on this one, he knows I've got a point. "I just - I - fuck, I'm not going to censor myself every time I step out the goddamn front door just to avoid some shitty gossip column that will most definitely happen anyways. That's a fucked up way to live."

I roll my eyes at that. "Says the same boy who literally refused to date all throughout Hogwarts for fear of what the  _Prophet_ might say."

"And I've lost my patience for that since then," he retorts.

"Alright, so we  _don't_ actively try to avoid another scandal, that's fine," I snap. "Even then, if you've got an issue with me, say it to my fucking face instead of making some snappy remark about it to all of our friends."

He looks taken aback for a moment, but recovers quick enough. "Fine then," he says, crossing his arms and looking at me reproachfully. "I think you work too much, and it's affecting your ability to spend time with people you care about - including me."

"I spend plenty of time with you!" I argue. "We literally  _live_ together, James."

"You didn't spend much time with me last weekend," he replies bitterly, looking away from me.

"I apologised for that," I respond. "I thought we were both over that already."

"It's more than just that," he replies, his tone almost tired now.

I, on the other hand, am anything but tired. "I don't know what else you want from me," I tell him. "We've literally been out all weekend."

"Yeah, but that's with other people. Think about it, Abby, when was the last time we went on a proper date, just the two of us? Because I'm pretty sure it's when we got engaged, which was, what, almost three months ago?"

And yeah, I suppose he's got a point there, but it's not like I can do much about it, and I don't know why he can't just understand that. "I'm doing my  _job_ , James," I say icily. "And if you recall correctly, I'm also in the middle of planning  _our_ wedding, so it's not exactly like I've got a ton of free time floating around. It's not like you're helping me much with that either."

He throws his hands up in the air, clearly frustrated now. "I'm not, because you said you didn't want my help! I'd do shit if you needed me to, but you're so goddamn controlling about everything being perfect that I'd probably fuck it up somehow!"

I can only gape at him for a moment. "Controlling?" I repeat. "You really think  _I'm_ controlling? Meanwhile, you're over here telling me I need to stop working too much - and somehow  _that's_ okay."

"I'm not  _telling_ you that you need to stop working so much, I'm  _trying_ to point out that it's going to fuck up the other parts of your life if all you think about all the time is your damn job." He gestures to the set of books on defensive magic sitting on the coffee table. "I mean, don't tell me you aren't planning on spending your entire day tomorrow wrapped up in 'research' or some shit like that."

That assumption is correct, but I don't necessarily think that somehow means I'm 'working too much' - not when I've already spent the whole weekend doing non-work-related things.

"I'm doing my best," I shoot back venomously. "I've got a lot going on right now, and I would've  _thought_ you'd be at least a little bit supportive instead of somehow making it my fault."

"How is it  _not_ your fault?" he replies, taking a step in my direction. " _You're_ the one in control of your own schedule,  _you're_ the one who's gotten so obsessed with overachieving in every aspect of your life that you're forgetting how to actually enjoy it - and then you go and get pissed about some tiny little comment I make because it doesn't fit in with that perfect fantasy! Merlin, Abby, sometimes it feels like you're turning back into your 17-year-old self."

Honestly, he might as well have just aimed a Stinging Hex at me for how much that one bites.

"I'm  _nothing_  like I was back then," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "Wanting you to  _tell_ me what's wrong instead of casually bitching about it to our friends does  _not_ make me that person again."

Somehow, we've shifted throughout this argument, and we're so close that we're almost touching now.

"And a fat fucking lot of good  _that_ one did me, because you've clearly got absolutely no fucking intention of actually listening to me, or - "

His soon-to-be rant is cut off abruptly by the fact that I've pulled his lips down to meet my own. I'm absolutely sick of the sound of his voice, and I can think of a whole host of better things his mouth could be doing instead.

I'm fully aware that this makes me no better than him in our last argument - refusing to talk things down and shutting him up in an entirely different manner - but I just… I can't do this right now. I can't continue to have this argument when we're both still tipsy and the harsh words are coming out entirely too quickly - redirecting things is so much better, and this is the best way I know how.

James seems to pick up on that (or maybe he's just as annoyed at the sound of my voice as I am at his), and things go much the same way they did the last time - except this time, we actually make it to our bed.

I'm back on top this time, back in control - I find myself thinking that at least  _this_ is one situation where he certainly won't ever complain about me being controlling, if the intensity with which his hands are gripping my thighs and the way he says my name when he comes are anything to go by.

But there's no chance to be bitter about his comments for much longer, not when he decides to remind me of yet another use for his tongue that's far superior to talking - reminding me of it again and again with his forearm pressing my hips into the mattress until I'm grasping at the sheets with both hands and gasping out his name.

In this little bubble of ours, the only thing that matters is this exact moment - there's no room for thinking about the steps that got us here when James practically has me seeing stars.

When I'm finally able to think straight again, part of me almost expects James to leave like he did last time - although I have no idea where he'd go at this hour - but instead he just moves back up the bed, dropping a kiss on my forehead before laying down next to me and closing his eyes, like he's just going to fall asleep right there. It's the same thing he's done so many times before; it's almost as if there was no argument preceding this.

Yet somehow, even with James right next to me and his hand still resting on my waist, I still feel just as empty and alone this time around.

When James' breathing eventually slows, I get up. Even if I wanted to just fall asleep right there, I don't think I could. I'm still filled with such a strange and incongruent rush of emotions - and the peacefulness needed for sleep is most definitely not among them. And so I go to the bathroom, I make a cup of tea, I pace the living room floor as I try to calm the chaos in my mind.

I'm just not sure when our once-so-incredible relationship turned into this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't recall making a conscious decision to start writing random flashes of smut in this story. I'm as surprised by it as you are.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 13…
> 
> "Am I turning back into my old self?" I ask, entirely out of the blue.
> 
> It's been something I haven't been able to get out of my head for the past few days.
> 
> Amelie cocks her head at me. "What do you mean?"
> 
> "Like, the person I was before I became friends with you lot," I explain. "Before seventh year."
> 
> There's a moment of silence, and I suddenly regret asking.
> 
> "As someone who was friends with you both then and now, I can fully confirm that you are not turning into that person again," Caroline says after a moment. "Where the hell would you have gotten that idea?"
> 
> I shrug. "Oh, I don't know," I lie.
> 
> "Trust me," Amelie adds, "if you'd gone back to being a self-absorbed, rude bitch, one of us would definitely have called you out on that by now."


	13. Complexity #13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes pretending to be okay is the best you can do.

This time, there's no apology.

I don't even know what I'd apologize for, and I don't think James does either.

So instead, things just become incredibly tense, and I find myself regretting the decision to live together for the first time since James moved in. Because there's no escaping him and getting space to cool off - not when we both come home to the same space every evening and share the same bed every night.

I never thought I'd think of James' presence as suffocating, but it's starting to feel that way sometimes.

And maybe I'm perpetuating the cycle, I don't know - because in order to get the space I so desperately need, I start staying later at work. It's not even time-sensitive work that I'm doing after hours - it's just more stuff related to my independent research on Killing Curses - but I find it's somehow more calming to be alone in the dim office than sharing a tense living space with my fiancé.

But I'm no stranger to pretending to be fine when things definitely aren't, so I'm all smiles when I meet the girls for lunch on Wednesday.

"Oh, I like what you did to your hair, Abby!" Caroline says when she sees me, and I unconsciously reach up to the crown of braids around my head in response.

"Experimenting with wedding hairstyles, are we?" Molly adds, a knowing grin on her face.

I shrug. "Not really. I just decided to do something different this morning."

In truth, thinking about wedding things when James and I's relationship is in such a strange state is almost uncomfortable - I know that I need to work on planning, and that hopefully we'll find a way to resolve this ongoing argument of ours by then anyways, but there's something strange about planning a wedding to someone you're currently barely even speaking to.

"Well it looks lovely," Molly replies.

I thank her, and we go ahead and place our drink orders. We're at a cute little Muggle café a few blocks from Diagon Alley today, and I quite like the white minimalistic interior as compared to the dim chaos of the Leaky Cauldron.

"So, what's new with you lot?" Amelie says, adjusting the lime green dress that is quite clearly her Healer robes transfigured into something acceptable to wear around Muggles.

I half expect to have to nudge Molly to speak, but she surprises me by answering almost immediately. "Well, Abby already knows this, but Zara and I are… official."

Caroline looks a bit puzzled at that. "Officially what?"

"Officially together," Molly replies. "As in, like, she's my girlfriend now."

"Oh wow, congratulations, that happened fast," Amelie comments, and it must be like the fifth time Molly's heard those exact sentiments.

But she's never been the type to get easily fed up over harmless comments, so she just shrugs it off. "Neither of us like being in limbo - it made sense."

"Well damn," Amelie replies, grinning. "Honestly, I had my money on Caroline being the next of us to get into a relationship - I thought it was going to take you and Zara  _much_ longerto get there. Or Caroline much shorter."

"Who would I be getting in a relationship with?" Caroline says, sounding almost defensive.

I'm pretty sure everyone at the table rolls our eyes at that one. "Who do you think?" I ask.

"Yeah, you know, interestingly enough," Molly responds, turning to Caroline, "we haven't heard  _any_  details from youabout that date with Freddy a few weeks ago."

Caroline, for her part, looks surprisingly blasé about the whole thing, which is a bit surprising given how I'd seen her act  _with_ him. "It went well enough," she replies.

There's a moment of silence as all of us wait for her to give more details, but it becomes apparent that that's all she's planning on saying.

"Meaning?" Amelie prods.

"Meaning just that." When it becomes clear no one is satisfied with that answer, she continues. "We're sorting things out."

It's intentionally vague, and could mean a whole host of things, really - from them deciding to just stay friends, to them already being back together and just not saying anything about it yet. And with Caroline's poker face, there's honestly no telling which.

Although I've got my fingers crossed for the latter.

"But what about you, Amelie?" she asks, clearly intent on changing the subject. "Any scintillating updates in  _your_ love life?"

And unlike Caroline's composed response, Amelie's face immediately reveals that she's got some sort of secret - her cheeks flush pink and she looks down at her lap.

"Oh my Merlin, there is something!" Molly practically yells, disrupting an otherwise peaceful lunch environment. I almost expect someone at the next table over to shush her. " _Spill_."

"It's… nothing, really," Amelie replies, her voice so much softer than Molly's demanding one.

"The fact that you're blushing something awful suggests differently," Caroline retorts drily.

"It was… stupid," Amelie elaborates. "It's not sustainable, and it was just a dumb decision that was  _definitely_  against the rules, and - "

"Oh, just get it out already," Molly demands impatiently.

"Itwasoneoftheinterns," she says in a rush, and it takes me a few moments to comprehend what she's just said. "A group of us - like half interns and half Healers - we were at someone's house for a casual get-together type thing, and… I don't know, I've thought he was fit since he started and somehow that resulted in me going home with him."

Well. That's… an interesting situation.

"I wasn't even drunk!" she adds, looking more and more concerned as she talks about it. "I just… I haven't been with a guy since Derek, and that was like at least a year and a half ago, and he's - I don't  _know_."

"Well, I mean, it was a one-time thing, right?" I ask, realizing full well that this is a hilarious question for me to be asking, given my own history with 'one-time things.' "As long as it doesn't happen again, it's fine. Have you two talked about it at least?"

"That's… all of that is part of the problem," Amelie says, getting even redder, which I honestly wouldn't have considered possible until now. "We were  _supposed_ to talk about it, and instead we… we shagged again. And it was  _at_ work this time, which is truly just all kinds of fucked-up, and I - yeah."

At that, Caroline actually laughs. "You do realise you're basically living the plot of a shitty, tropey romance novel right now, right?"

Amelie drops her head into her hands at that. "Romance novels always make this shit look way less complicated."

"I mean, yeah," Caroline replies, "because romance novels ignore real-life consequences or avoid them when it's convenient, and real life isn't like that. You don't just get to pretend nothing else matters in the face of love."

The slight bitterness to her tone suggests she's definitely thinking about her and Freddy's initial breakup. And it doesn't seem like a good sign for them at present, from my perspective.

But she's also pretty on-the-nose about things, too.

Somehow, no one else picks up on the fact that Caroline's most definitely thinking about her own situation, and Amelie just replies, "It's not even love! It's honestly just sex, coupled with the fact that he's not a complete idiot."

She pauses for a moment, then laughs. "Merlin, just when I thought my standards couldn't get any lower."

"Dom's not here, so I'll say this for her," I say, before adopting my best impression of my best friend. " 'Standards for guys you fuck are a totally different story from standards for guys you date - there's a difference.' "

The table falls silent for a moment. "That was… a spot-on impersonation," Molly replies, in a slight state of wonderment.

Meanwhile, Amelie grins. "I should've known Dom would've had the perfect response for this situation."

"And Merlin knows I've gotten enough advice from her over the years to practically predict what she'd say in most situations," I add.

"It's such a shame she's always got training on Wednesday afternoons," Molly says. "She always gets so pissed about missing all of this - and she's going to be even  _more_ pissed when she discovers she's the last to learn about your forbidden hook-ups."

Everyone laughs at that, no doubt because we're all imagining what Dom's eventual reaction will be.

And despite all the relationship talk, no one asks me about how me and James are doing - probably because we're considered the 'stable' couple anyways - which is good because, if they did, I'd probably lie.

And maybe that  _does_  make me just as bad as my seventh year self, but I just can't see anything positive coming out of telling my friends about our fights.

That decision - to keep our issues between us, especially when I'd already gone off on James for not doing the same - seems like a very different one than lying about what I'd done with my boyfriend back then, but maybe I'm biased by my own desperation to be different than what I was.

"Am I turning back into my old self?" I ask, entirely out of the blue.

It's not at all related to the current conversation, but it's been something I haven't been able to get out of my head for the past few days.

Amelie cocks her head at me. "What do you mean?"

"Like, the person I was before I became friends with you lot," I explain. "Before seventh year."

There's a moment of silence, and I suddenly regret asking.

"As someone who was friends with you both then and now, I can fully confirm that you are  _not_ turning into that person again," Caroline says after a moment. "Where the hell would you have gotten that idea?"

I shrug. "Oh, I don't know," I lie.

"Trust me," Amelie adds, "if you'd gone back to being a self-absorbed, rude bitch, one of us would  _definitely_ have called you out on that by now."

I laugh at that, but it comes out hollow. It's certainly something of a relief to have that opinion from someone else, but it doesn't change the fact that my own fiancé still seems to think I am.

The rest of our lunch passes in a largely uneventful fashion - there are no more dramatic revelations about people's lives (other than a particularly gruesome story about a misfired  _Avis_ spell at Mungo's) and any further attempts to get Caroline to elaborate on her situation with Freddy are promptly shut down.

But all in all, my spirits are considerably lifted by the time I head back to the Auror office. And with that good mood, I head straight for Markus' office, leaning against the side of his desk until he looks up from whatever he's currently working on.

The other two Aurors who share his office normally are still out to lunch, so I don't have to worry about people overhearing anything.

"How are things with Louis?" I ask when he finally acknowledges my presence.

I'm apparently in a mood to hear about everyone's gossip today.

"They're… good," he replies slowly. "Still casual, but good. We've got plans on Friday though - which is a bit telling given the date."

"The date?"

He looks at me like I've asked something incredibly stupid. "Valentine's Day?"

"Oh." Somehow, that one had completely slipped my mind until now. "Forgot about that."

Markus scoffs. "But I mean, you and James definitely have plans, don't you?"

"Er, yeah," I reply, knowing full well that it's a lie and we've got nothing of the sort yet. "Definitely."

He looks at me with an eyebrow raised, and I feel like he can see straight through me. He's never made any mention of being a Legilimens, so he's probably just highly perceptive, but it feels like an unexpectedly piercing look nonetheless.

But if he can tell anything, he doesn't say it. Instead, he looks back at the papers on his desk. "Don't you think it's strange?"

"I don't follow," I tell him, unsure of what exactly he's referring to.

"There's two major events with two weeks of each other - a mass murder and a murder of a major Quidditch star, presumably by the same people - and then… nothing. For over a month."

I haven't given the timeline of things much thought - mostly because time has started to blur together as a result of how hectic things have been for me lately - but now that Markus mentions it, the sudden silence  _is_ a bit bizarre.

"So, what do you think it means?" I ask. "That they're planning something else?"

"Maybe?" he replies, pushing his fringe back with his fingers. "Circe, I can't figure out if there's some intense strategy at play here or if they're just absolutely winging it."

"For what it's worth," I answer, "my money's on the former - you don't specifically dig through  _years_ worth of muggleborn files just to find the worst performing ones and target those people  _without_ some sort of detailed plan of attack."

"So you think they're gearing up for something else."

I shrug. "I don't know. All I know is that if they are, we better be a bit more prepared for it this time."

 

* * *

 

That night, sitting in the living room with James, I'm randomly reminded of the first part of my conversation with Markus.

"Are we doing something for Valentine's Day?" I ask casually, breaking the long-settled silence between us.

"I don't know," he replies. "Are we? Or are you working that night?"

I bite back a snappy remark. This particular battle isn't worth fighting - any attempt at defending myself will probably devolve into an argument, and I just don't want to deal with that right now. This simple question doesn't deserve to turn into a full-blown row. "No, I'm not."

"Okay then," James says, looking back down at the papers he's got in his lap. "We'll do something."

And given the nonchalance of that response, I'm more than a little surprised when a massive bouquet of flowers finds its way to my desk on Friday morning.

Actually, massive is almost an understatement, because the whole thing honestly takes up about half of my desk. It's a gorgeous array of red roses and baby's breath, and it's accompanied by a note that reads  _Happy Valentine's Day, love. -James_.

Something about it feels bizarre to me - it's so much more grandiose and dramatic than any previous years' gifts, which have all been smaller and so much more intimate. This feels… oddly impersonal, even with the sweet note.

"Damn, James really went all out this year, didn't he?" Al comments.

"You mean to say you  _didn't_ send your wife a flower bouquet the size of a small child?" Aaliyah replies, and she has to actually lean in her chair to see Al over said massive flower bouquet.

"Well considering she  _works_ in a greenhouse, that wouldn't exactly be very productive, now would it?" Al retorts drily. "I've got her… something else."

I look over at Al just in time to see him flush, and it's clear that whatever he's got planned for Cecile for Valentine's Day is really special and personal.

And somehow, that realisation is what makes my stomach bottom out, as I realise just what feels so weird about this over-the-top present.

It's not personal at all. And it's not  _for_  me, not really. It's for the rest of the world - it's for an audience. It's James making our relationship look perfect to everyone around us.  _That's_  why he's picked a massive thing of flowers that no one could possibly miss.

He's doing exactly what I'd told him to do - and somehow, that stings more than expected. Because it's clear that we're just pretending to be okay instead of actually being okay. There's a sense of artificiality to things that wasn't there before.

I realise I've zoned out for almost all of Aaliyah's ribbing of Al and his blushing, but I suddenly just need to be alone. In the moment, this is just all too much.

"I'm going to go thank James in person for these," I say abruptly as an excuse, before standing up and leaving the office.

But instead of going down to the Magical Law office like I'd said I would, I go to the girls' toilets, where I hide out in a stall with my head in my hands, taking deep, shaking breaths and doing my best not to cry at the thought of what my life is turning into - a façade of perfection instead of anything real.

I can't even be mad at James for this - he's done exactly what I'd wanted him to, even if he did go a bit over-the-top with it - so the only person left to blame for my current state is myself.

 

* * *

 

I recover from my near-breakdown well enough, and by the end of the day, the flower situation is barely on my mind anymore.

Instead, I'm thinking about James and I's date tonight - as he's pointed out before, it'll be the first proper one we've had since getting engaged, and I'm determined to make it a good one.

Current arguments be damned, we can leave that behind for just one night at the very least. Hopefully.

Somehow, I get home earlier than James does, which is nice because it gives me the chance to properly get ready for our date. I pick out a deep red form-fitting dress - one of the few I own that makes it look like I've actually got cleavage - and black heels, and I'm halfway through curling my hair when James finally comes in.

"You look gorgeous, love," he says when he enters the room, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist.

It seems he's come to the same decision as I have - to leave our current argument behind for the night in favour of actually enjoying ourselves. We've only got one Valentine's Day as an engaged couple, after all, and it seems foolish to waste it.

"Thanks for the flowers," I tell him, and I  _do_ mean it, despite my earlier breakdown over them. They really  _are_  lovely, and I can't fault him for intentionally doing something flashy - I'd wanted him to put on a show, and he delivered.

"You're welcome," he replies, leaning around to kiss me on the cheek. "I'll go get changed, and then we can go, yeah? Our reservation is in half an hour, so we can grab a round of drinks while we wait."

"Sounds wonderful."

And so we end up at a nice restaurant in Muggle London, splitting a bottle of champagne at the bar. Somehow, that tiniest bit of alcohol loosens up any residual tension between us, and our conversation doesn't even feel remotely forced.

It's a surprising breath of fresh air given the state of things over the past week.

"So how long have you two been together?" the waitress asks once we're settled at our actual table. She's asking both of us, but really only looking at James.

I mean, I can't really blame her - he  _does_ look really good tonight. But still.

"Almost three years," James replies, clearly oblivious to the way she's looking at him. "Or… more than three years, depending on how you define 'together.' "

He gives me a smirk at that.

"How wonderful," the waitress coos, still only watching James.

I'm not even remotely jealous, honestly, but I still find it hilarious that she's blatantly checking out my fiancé while I'm sitting right here. "Can we start with an order of the baked brie?" I say, partially just to see if she'll even look in my direction.

She does take the bait, but almost looks a bit surprised to be reminded that I'm here.

"Yes, I'll put that right in for you," she replies, before turning and walking to check on her next table.

"You know she was like, blatantly checking you out, right?" I ask, looking at James and failing to suppress a grin.

"Oh, was she? I hadn't noticed," James responds, with an air of fake nonchalance that confirms he most definitely noticed, as he adjusts the collar of his shirt. "Can't fault her though - I look good in this suit."

I roll my eyes at that. "You're so full of yourself," I tell him, before leaning towards him conspiratorially. "But you look even better out of it."

There's a flash of surprise across his face, but he recovers from it quickly. "I feel the same about that dress," he replies, as his eyes not-so-subtly drop to my chest.

"Too bad it'll have to wait until we get home."

He smirks at me, and I immediately know exactly what he's thinking. "Does it though?"

"James Potter," I warn, "we are  _not_ having sex in the bathroom of this nice restaurant."

"I'm sure we wouldn't be the only couple to do it tonight," he retorts.

I scoff at that. "Right, because  _that_ somehow makes it better."

We're interrupted by the arrival of our starter, and I briefly reflect on how much I enjoy  _this_ type of playful banter more than any other sort of verbal sparring we've been doing recently.

The fact that there's food in front of us entirely distracts James from his previous plan, as any thoughts of a bathroom shag are apparently outweighed by the presence of cheese and puff pastry.

The conversation somehow switches gears to a discussion about our friends, and James is predictably stunned when I tell him about Amelie.

"You're telling me the girl who was once just as much of a rule stickler as Molly actually fucked one of her interns?" he confirms, not even bothering to drop his voice down a few decibels. But if anyone around us actually hears him, they don't show it.

"Multiple times."

"Damn," James replies with a laugh, "adulthood really has done a number on us all."

"That it has," I agree, trying not to let my mind drift to what it's done to us. Tonight's not about any of that, after all, and we're currently having such a nice time.

"Speaking of which, have you heard from Caroline about her and Freddy at all?" he asks, changing the subject. "Because Freddy won't say anything to me about it - like, absolute dead silence on the subject."

"Caroline was the same way," I say. "Which is either a really good sign, or a really bad one."

"I can't see them not getting back together," James insists, before taking a swig of champagne. "I mean, it's not like they broke up over anything super dramatic other than Caroline not knowing if she was ever moving back, right?"

"Yeah," I reply, "and Freddy just… struggled with the whole 'no physical contact' thing, apparently."

"Then there shouldn't be an issue," he reasons. "Honestly, it'd be absurd if they don't get back together - they were so good for each other, and so in love it was almost annoying."

While I may agree with him that they were good together, I'm not entirely convinced that it's a done deal because of that alone. "I don't know, Caroline made some pretty damning comments on Wednesday about love not always being enough."

"Of course love is enough," James replies, surprisingly insistent. "Why wouldn't it be?"

I can only shrug at that, finishing off the last of my drink. I don't think it's quite that black and white, but that doesn't feel like the right sort of conversation for a romantic dinner.

The rest of dinner is similarly pleasant - James makes me laugh so hard in the middle of dessert that I almost choke on chocolate cake. Someone else in the restaurant gets engaged via the whole 'ring in the champagne flute' move, and James tells me that he considered that idea for a moment but knew I'd hate putting on a sticky ring and abandoned the concept altogether.

As always, he knows me incredibly well.

We're both smiling by the time we leave the restaurant, caught up in our own little bubble; James has his arm around my shoulder as if to compensate for the fact that I'd completely forgotten to bring a jacket, although his body heat does little against the cold February air.

Luckily, we've only got to walk a little bit before ducking into an alleyway and Apparating back home, so I'm not shivering for  _too_ long.

Being back in our living room somehow feels like a threat to the illusion we've created over the course of the evening. Maybe it's the fact that this room has been the backdrop to both of our biggest fights, but something about coming back here feels like crashing back into reality.

That same epiphany doesn't seem to hit James - or if it does, it doesn't affect him, because he turns to face me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear before running his thumb along my jaw.

I should probably be paying attention to the boy in front of me and the sparks he somehow still lights under my skin with his touch, but somehow, my eyes fall on the stack of gold and white envelopes sitting in a pile in the corner.

"We need to send those out soon," I say, more to myself than anything.

But it's apparently the wrong thing to have said out loud, because James follows my line of sight to the wedding invitations and sighs loudly. "Merlin, Abby, can we not have  _one_ night off from everything? Is that too much to ask?"

And that nice little bubble of ours has officially been popped, and the tension is back. Hell, maybe it  _is_ something about this living room.

But I  _refuse_ to let this night end in a fight. Not when we've had such a wonderful time together preceding this.

So I grab James' hand - the one still lingering on my cheek - and pull him over to the couch. He somehow knows to sit down without me even asking.

Wordlessly, I reach to the back of the dress and pull the zipper down, before sliding the straps off my shoulders and slowly peeling the skintight fabric off of me until the dress falls to the floor. I'm fully aware that James' eyes have been glued to me since I sat him down on the couch, but the intensity of his gaze still takes me by surprise when I look back up at him.

I step out of the dress, leaving my shoes behind as well, and place one knee on either side of James on the couch, effectively straddling him.

And James has never been one to look but not touch, so he almost immediately has his hands on my hips, pulling them down to meet his own. My little striptease has already gotten him excited, apparently.

"One night off, coming right up," I say, my voice barely above a whisper as my lips hover a few inches from his.

When our lips meet, it's gentle at first - massively different from the heated nature of our mid-fight shags. This is warm and soft and fills my head with a million memories of moments just like this, back when this was how we always were and it wasn't a one-time ruse.

And as James' hands travel slowly up my sides and our bodies mold together - so perfectly, just as they always have - I find myself thinking that this is perhaps not the worst game of pretend of play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 14…
> 
> I'd expect Dom to laugh that off, but instead, she looks surprisingly serious. "If I tell you something, can you promise not to tell anyone?"
> 
> "Yeah, of course," I reply automatically, hanging my four dresses up on a hook.
> 
> "I mean it," she says. "Not even James."
> 
> I want to tell her that won't be a problem, because we're not exactly on speaking terms at the moment, but now doesn't really seem like a good time to bring that up. "I promise."


	14. Complexity #14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping secrets is easy when you've got no one to tell them to.

"Dress shopping fucking sucks."

Before I have a chance to say anything in response, Dom continues her rant. "I mean, first of all, I had to put on a  _real_ bra for this instead of a sports bra, which is shit in and of itself, but also, I still think this Ministry event is absurd and I don't understand why I'm expected to go and look nice anyways."

She has a point about the ridiculousness of the Ministry gala. It's some sort of annual thing involving Ministry leadership and their families, so how Dom and her family ended up getting dragged into it is still a bit of a mystery to me. None of them even  _work_ for the Ministry.

If she really wanted to, she could probably get out of going for that exact reason - but we both know that, despite her present complaining, she enjoys the open bar far too much to ever turn down the invitation.

And so we're in a fancy wizarding dress shop off Diagon Alley, rifling through racks of floor-length gowns and attempting to find ones we like.

"And you're going to make me do all this again in a month or so, aren't you?" she adds, looking over at me.

It takes a moment for me to figure out what she's talking about, and then I remember that I've already made the appointment for bridesmaid and wedding dress shopping. Keeping track of everything is difficult.

"Yep, sorry," I reply, in a sort of sing-songy way that suggests I'm not sorry at all.

"You're damn lucky I love you," Dom shoots back, before pulling a rose gold number off the rack.

Dom has successfully found three dresses she likes, all of which are at least some degree of sparkly. She's nothing if not consistent, really.

Meanwhile, I've got nothing - I don't know if I'm just being unnecessarily picky or what, but nothing's caught my eye just yet.

Dom grabs a fourth dress, before announcing, "I'm going to go try these on and see if I don't hate one of them."

I just nod my agreement, continuing to flip through the dresses. Eventually, I just grab four at random, hopeful that one of them will work or, at the very least, give me some sort of idea of what type of dress I actually want.

When I get back to the dressing rooms, Dom's already got on her first dress - a deep purple number that gets increasingly more glittery you go down - and is looking at herself in the mirror. The cut of the dress also manages to draw attention to the faded, but still visible, series of love bites on her collarbone.

"Looks like someone had some fun recently," I comment, looking pointedly at the offending mark.

I'd expect Dom to laugh that off, but instead, she looks surprisingly serious. "If I tell you something, can you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Yeah, of course," I reply automatically, hanging my four dresses up on a hook.

"I mean it," she says. "Not even James."

I want to tell her that won't be a problem, because we're not exactly on speaking terms at the moment, but now doesn't really seem like a good time to bring that up. "I promise."

"Rajhi and I fucked."

It takes me a moment to process that one, because given how so many of our previous conversations have gone, I hadn't imagined that was even somewhere in the realm of possibility.

"I - what? How?"

"I hardly think I need to walk you through the specifics of how sex happens," Dom replies sarcastically. "I stayed in the room next to you and James two Christmases ago, so I know you know how it works."

"That's  _not_ what I meant," I reply, stripping down and grabbing the first dress.

"I don't know," Dom replies, a bit more resigned this time as she unzips her own dress. "We were drinking and playing some dumb game, and it somehow turned into him going down on me in the pub bathroom - which I was  _not_ expecting him to do, by the way - and then going back to his place and… well, you know the rest."

"I thought you said you weren't into him like that," I say in response, unsure of where else to go from here.

"I said I wasn't into him romantically," she clarifies. "I've always thought he was fit - I've told you that - and we're both no strangers to the whole no-strings-attached one-night-stand thing, and, I don't know, we were  _drunk_. You know as well as anyone the shitty decision-making skills that happen when you're drunk."

She pauses for a moment. "Scratch that, this is a totally different situation than that one. You're marrying that questionable drunk decision."

I look at the dark green dress in the mirror and almost instantly hate it. "So what's the issue then? You shagged once, but it's in the past now, yeah?"

"That's what I thought," Dom says, zipping up the rose gold dress and looking at it in the mirror. "But Rajhi hasn't spoken to me since. Like, it's fine when we're on the pitch and whatever - and thank Merlin it is, because I would've kicked his  _ass_  if he let personal shit affect Quidditch - but he's practically going out of his way  _not_ to talk to me otherwise."

I feel like I've got a pretty good idea of why he's acting like that, but I don't think Dom will like my interpretation. So instead, I opt to turn the question her way. "Why do you think he's doing that?"

"I don't know," she answers, "and that's part of the issue. Like, yeah, it could be because he fancies me - because I  _know_ you're thinking that and trying not to say it for my sake, but also, maybe he's afraid  _I_ caught feelings, or maybe he just really regrets the whole thing altogether."

I grab a relatively unassuming-looking navy blue dress that practically feels like water between my fingers. "And you don't? Regret it, that is?"

Dom scoffs. "It was a dumb ass decision, that's for sure, but no, I don't. I'll  _never_  say this to his face, but he's actually pretty damn warranted in walking around like a fucking sex god all the time, if we're being honest. It was a  _great_  night. But also, he was gone by the time I woke up. In  _his_ flat, no less - he was so adamant about not seeing me the next morning that he full-on abandoned his own place, so who the fuck knows what  _that_  means."

I must admit, that doesn't exactly sound promising for my own theory on things.

But I give her the best advice I know. "Then I think you just need to corner him somehow and get him to talk to you. That's the only way you're going to get anywhere."

It's pretty rich for someone who hasn't had a full-length civil conversation with her own fiancé since Valentine's Day - which was two weeks ago at this point - but Dom doesn't have to know that.

"Yeah, I suppose." Then she completely changes the subject, turning to see a profile view of the dress she's currently wearing. "This is good enough, right?"

She's would probably look good in a potato sack, so naturally, the gown looks incredible on her.

"Definitely."

I zip up my own dress, and something seems to click with it. While it might have looked plain on the hanger, it looks kind of incredible on me, the silky fabric clinging to my figure in all the right places.

"And I think this one might be it for me," I add, looking at my reflection in the mirror for just a little bit longer.

"You're going to be a stunner in that," Dom confirms, and it's the vote of confidence I need to settle on buying this dress.

I unzip it, and watch as the fabric gracefully falls to a puddle on the floor. And if I hadn't already been sold on it before, the mesmerising way that the dress comes off would've done it. Mainly because I'm picturing the moment that James will undoubtedly make it do just that.

And when the only time things feel right between us anymore is when we're having sex, you have to take satisfaction in whatever little moments you can get.

I'm still not quite sure what changed after Valentine's Day - because things were so nice for that one night - but we've fallen back into not speaking, getting fed up over things that shouldn't be more than petty disagreements, and refusing to properly resolve an argument.

We're either tearing each other down or tearing each other's clothes off, and I'm not sure either of those is actually productive.

And no amount of vintage dresses can buy back the dignity we've clearly lost, but buying pretty things has always been a nice temporary relief.

So Dom and I both pay for our dresses and leave the shop, and I pull my coat tightly around me when we step outside.

We're about halfway down the street, debating where to get afternoon tea, when a woman approaches us, holding a stack of pamphlets.

There's always the odd solicitor on these Diagon Alley side streets, so I don't think much of it when she hands both Dom and me a flyer. I stuff it in my pocket, with the intention of throwing it away once we get to whatever tea shop we decide to settle at. Dom does the same - it's much too cold out to do anything with our hands right now other than keep them bundled up in our coat pockets.

We end up Apparating to a shop on the other side of London that we both love, and it's over scones and decorative china that I finally pull that paper back out of my pocket.

When I read the contents of the flyer though, I have to stop myself from audibly gasping.

_Is the dilution of magical blood hurting our ability to protect ourselves?_

The rest of the paper is filled with statistics, graphs, and paragraphs of information that seem to detail how this theory of theirs is proven.

At first glance, it all looks pretty damning. If I was only skimming the page - and I didn't already have pretty firm beliefs about the absurdity of blood purist ideology - I might be convinced by something like this.

But I know better, and as I scan the paper more closely, I can pick apart the arguments pretty easily. Some of the numbers are blatantly fudged, and others - while probably accurate in their own right - seem to draw illogical conclusions. Correlation is mistaken for causation, other variables are ignored entirely, and it seems an awful lot like whoever made this flyer only used data that would support their bigoted point of view.

"Godric, why the fuck do people still think shit like this?" Dom says, clearly looking at the flyer herself.

"You got me," I reply, my eyes settling on the subheader at the bottom of the page.

_So what did past movements get wrong?_

And suddenly, a realisation hits me like lightning.

This kind of rhetoric - the idea that the people who weren't "purely" magical are somehow less capable of defending themselves against threats - ties in terrifyingly well with the fact that all the people killed in December were muggleborns who failed their Defence OWL.

I've got no idea how the two might be related - whether these people handing out these pamphlets are directly associated with the people who were behind that, or if they're just a reaction to it (although how they would've made the connection to failing exams when that link isn't public knowledge is reason to doubt that explanation) - but I do know that they seem to be our best source of answers.

And so without even thinking about it, I'm out of my seat, yelling a 'be right back' at Dom as I run out the front door of the shop and into an alleyway where I can Apparate back to where I first got that stupid pamphlet.

It's a stupid move on my part, really, because I've got absolutely no idea how an Auror is actually  _supposed_ to apprehend someone for questioning, considering I've never actually done it before and I didn't go through that part of training. But my brain is fully operating on an instinctive reaction right now, and that instinct is telling me to go back and find that woman who handed me this stupid neon orange flyer.

My lack of experience isn't ever put to the test though, because when I get back to that little offshoot of Diagon Alley, the people that were standing there just fifteen minutes ago are entirely gone - the only sign of their presence being a lone bright pink paper laying on the cobblestones.

 

* * *

 

Despite that anticlimactic trip, I still have news for Hyslop on Monday morning in the form of that flyer. Because while I might not know anything about where it actually came from, it seems awfully suspicious and awfully like a motive.

So as soon as I get to the office, I knock on Hyslop's closed office door.

He invites me in, and gestures for me to sit in one of the chairs across from his desk. As one of the most senior Aurors in the department, he's one of the few that's blessed with a private office.

"I was out this weekend," I say, leaving the 'shopping' part out of it, because I know that'll somehow make me sound less serious to him, "and someone handed me this."

I pull out the neon flyer, which has been folded and crumpled in a whole variety of ways by this point, and set it on his desk. "I've got no idea how it's connected to the case - and I didn't read it until after I'd walked away and by the time I got back they were gone but… this seems like something."

Hyslop eyes the flyer for a few seconds, but doesn't make any move to read it. "Yes, we've gotten civilian reports mentioning something similar - it seems like they were hanging around areas largely trafficked by wealthy purebloods, like Arcturus Alley, and passing these out."

I feel my stomach sink - I'd gotten my hopes up that I'd made yet another big discovery on this case, but as it turns out, I'm not the first to alert Hyslop, and I don't even have anything more to add to the conversation than a couple of civilians did.

"So do you think these people are the same as the ones who were behind the actual massacre, sir?" I ask, trying my best to at least seem  _somewhat_ useful.

"I've called a meeting this morning to discuss this new activity - I take it you were so eager to discuss this with me that you haven't actually been to your desk yet to see the notice - but… short answer, yes. The strategy matches up, so I can't see how these aren't at least tangentially related."

He's right in that I didn't even look at my desk before coming to his office, and I can't quite tell if he's annoyed with the fact that I didn't check it or pleased with my dedication. It could go either way, really.

"Well, in that case," I reply, standing back up and grabbing my misshapen flyer off of his desk, "I'll see you in the meeting?"

"Sounds good, Winchester," he answers, and for a moment I swear I see a hint of a smile on his face. Maybe I've actually worked my way into his good graces after all.

The same can't be said for certain other members of the team, who either shoot me down or reframe my ideas as their own throughout the entirety of the morning meeting. It makes me want to scream, or throw something at a wall, but I highly doubt that'll accomplish anything. So instead I do what I always do, and try not to react to it at all.

Some days I really do love working here; others, I want to rip my hair out. Which is really saying something, because I definitely don't have the right bone structure to pull off the bald look.

As such, I'm more than a little frustrated by the time lunch rolls around, and entirely grateful that Al and I are meant to be meeting Scorpius at a café near the  _Prophet_ offices. Between things with James being what they are and work being as infuriating as it is today, I'm running out of places to be that  _don't_ set me on edge.

It's been such a long time since I've seen Scorpius, and I feel guilty for how stretched thin I've been lately.

But unlike my own fiancé, he doesn't seem to fault me for it. Instead, he smiles brightly at me and pulls me into a hug.

"Abby! How's life?"

"It's good," I say. "Stressful, but good." Only half of that is a lie.

"Good," he replies, and I feel pretty damn good about my own acting skills. "Al says you're killing it in the Auror office?"

"Doing my best," I tell him, mirroring his smile. Although I highly doubt Al would be saying the same thing if he'd been in that meeting with me this morning.

I flash back, once again, to the moment when I'd been describing the person who'd handed me that flyer - to the best of my ability anyways, because who pays that much attention to the people shoving flyers in your face anyways? - and Kitchens had leaned over to Richards and whispered, somehow under the impression that I wouldn't hear her from one seat away.

_Bet she was too busy staring at all the pretty dresses in the windows._

Just the thought of it makes my blood boil all over again. Because it's not just the comment itself - it's the fact that that's the mindset the department has had since I got there. They're all somehow stuck in the archaic idea that being a competent Auror is somehow mutually exclusive from anything being interested in anything stereotypically 'girly' - the whole office feels like a glorified boys' club half the time, and I'm just another thing for them to roll their eyes at.

Aaliyah and I have both been dealing with this type of stuff since we started - sometimes Aaliyah even more so, given her proclivity towards the colour pink and dogged refusal to back off from her super-feminine fashion choices - but she's always taken it in stride so much better than I have.

"Abby?" Al's fingers suddenly pop into my line of vision as he snaps in front of my face. "You there?"

"Yes, sorry," I reply, getting back out of my own head.

"I was just asking if you knew what you wanted to order."

I haven't even looked at the menu yet. "I'll figure that out," I tell him, picking up the menu and looking for anything that sounds appetising. Which is… not much, but I think that's more due my own stress than the café's menu itself.

After Al gets up and places all of our orders at the counter and Scorpius and I both pay him back, Scorpius folds his hands on the table, looking uncharacteristically serious.

"So, I have some news."

"Rose is pregnant?" Al guesses, right as I say, "You're proposing?"

Scorpius' eyes go wide, and there's a moment where I think he might actually just fall out of his chair. " _Merlin, no_ ," he says to Al, spluttering a little.

"And, no, not quite," he replies to my guess. "You know, you guys weren't supposed to  _guess_  anything - you threw off how I'd rehearsed this."

I want to laugh, because he's such a dork, honestly. "Alright then, tell us."

"Rose got invited to work for a magical creature reserve in Bulgaria after she finishes up her magizoology specialty," he explains.

"Oh," is the only response I come up with, because I can't quite tell where he's going with this news.

"It's basically her dream job, really," he adds. "They've got a whole dragon sanctuary, as well as a whole bunch of experimental crossbreeds and endangered species."

"That's incredible," Al replies, but it's tinged with a somber note, because Rose going to Bulgaria doesn't exactly put a positive outlook on their relationship, even though they've been together for over three years.

"It is," Scorpius agrees. "And I think I'm going with her."

I wasn't expecting  _that_ at all. "You are?"

"Yeah," he nods. "I mean, I can do journalism from pretty much anywhere - and I'm getting pretty damn fed-up with the  _Prophet_  these days anyways - and I want to spend my life with her, no matter where that life is."

"So you're moving to Bulgaria," Al repeats. "Is it bad that I don't know where that is exactly?"

Scorpius laughs at that. "Honestly, Rose had to point it out to me on a map. It's between Greece and Romania."

"So when Cecile and I come visit you, we can just casually pop over to the Greek Islands for a weekend?"

"Of course," Scorpius replies. "And I'm sure there's loads to do in Bulgaria as well. Come visit whenever you want. And the same invite stands for you and James, Abby."

"We'll definitely take you up on that at some point," I tell him.  _Once we're actually speaking to each other again_ , I add, as an unspoken afterthought.

 

* * *

 

I get home late, per usual, and as a result, it's surprising that all the lights are still off when I arrive. I turn them all on and do a cursory check of both floors of the little townhouse, but the only other life in the place is Lila, who's asleep in the back of the closet. James apparently still isn't home yet.

So I go about reheating some leftovers, bringing the bowl of food with me to the couch as I pull out the book I've been reading lately. It's a cheesy Muggle romance novel - not work-related reading in the slightest - but I find it's been a nice distraction from my own chaotic life.

I can practically  _hear_ the scoffs of my colleagues - if they were so judgmental about me shopping for dresses, I can't imagine what they'd think of me indulging in a 'trashy' romance novel - but I try to drown those out.

And while I'm successful in ignoring  _that_  train of thought, I can't help but get distracted by the odd noise here and there - they seem unexpectedly louder when no one else is here, echoing through the empty space.

If this shared space is suffocating with James here, it's strangely hollow without him.

It doesn't help that, every time I look up in the direction of a new sound, my eyes fall on the wall of photos on our staircase. Namely, the too-large-to-miss one of James on one knee.

Every glance at it tugs at my heartstrings. Because I know, without a doubt, that no matter how angry I may get at him, no matter how many buttons he pushes, I still love him just as much as I did that day: so much it almost hurts.

I want nothing more than to be that version of ourselves again, but I've got no idea how to find it.

On the twelfth or so time of me looking up and staring at that ridiculously large photograph, I can't take it anymore. I can't be in this empty house that feels like it's mocking me with the ghost of my own happiness.

I try to think of where I could go - Dom is out of the question, she's got early morning practices on Tuesdays - and eventually settle on Caroline's place. I doubt she's got anything too crazy going on on a Monday night, and I could use someone to vent to - if not about James, then at least about the nightmare that was work today.

So I Apparate into her apartment complex, and before I can think about it too much, I knock on her front door.

There's a slightly muffled 'can you get that?' from the other side that I barely register at first, but it suddenly clicks as out of the ordinary when the door opens and the person standing there is decidedly not Caroline.

Instead, it's Freddy, clad in plaid pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt.

"Er, shit," he says, as a greeting. "Hi, Abby. What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question," I reply coolly, trying to piece together what exactly is happening here.

Freddy awkwardly shifts his weight from one foot to another, clearly not wanting to answer my question directly. But it's kind of hopeless at this point, because there's a very short list of reasons why he might be at Caroline's house in pyjamas at this hour.

He's saved from answering my question though, by Caroline walking back into the living area of her flat. "You've got enough for a tip, right? I've got - wait, Abby?"

It's clear they were both expecting someone totally different to be at their door right now.

"Sorry, I can come by another time," I say, sensing that this isn't exactly a good time for a visitor, "but, er, can one of you please explain what on earth is going on here? Are you two back together?"

There's a long pause, as Caroline walks up next to Freddy and he - almost instinctively - wraps an arm around her shoulders.

"In a way," Caroline answers, before defending herself. "I wasn't lying, you know, when I told you all we were still working things out - because we  _are_  still sorting things - but… yeah. Long story short, we are."

She looks up at Freddy with such a dreamy look in her eyes, that I can't help but feel a rush of jealousy. But I quash it as best I can, and smile at the two of them.

"I'm so happy for you two," I tell them, and I do mean it, unexpected envy aside.

I just… wish my own relationship was as smooth sailing as theirs seems to be right now.

"Thank you," Caroline replies, before getting serious. "But please don't tell anyone just yet. Not even James."

The number of people who have asked me to keep a secret from someone I'm at no risk of divulging gossip to within the past couple of days is astounding.

"I won't," I promise.

"Thanks for that," she says. "We're going to tell people soon, but I just… I want it to be on our own time, when we're really back on solid footing again."

The way Freddy's looking at her seems like pretty solid footing to me, but I don't argue that point with her. I know all about not wanting to go public with a relationship until you feel ready.

"So, er, what did you come by for?" she asks, changing the subject.

It doesn't feel like I should be here right now - not when her and Freddy are clearly waiting on food delivery and have an enjoyable night ahead of themselves (and they really  _do_  deserve that, after everything they've been through) - so I lie.

"It's not a big deal," I tell her. "I'll come back some other time. You two have a good night, though."

"Are you sure?" Caroline sounds genuinely concerned, but I can tell there's a part of her that's hoping that I'll say 'yes' and she'll be able to go back to spending time with Freddy.

It doesn't seem fair for me to subject her to my problems when she's clearly so happy.

"Positive," I reply, sounding much more confident than I feel.

"Alright then," she says. "I'll see you soon?"

"Yeah, see you soon."

"See you, Abby," Fred adds.

And I close the door to her flat, turning my back on the scene of two picture-perfect lovers putting their lives back together. It's so opposite to the way my relationship seems to be slipping through my fingers, crumbling apart while I helplessly watch it fall. And I almost wishthat I could be malicious towards Caroline and Freddy, that I could curse them for being so happy when I'm so not - because at least that would give me  _something_ to feel other than this growing sense of numbness.

But I can't muster it, so instead I cast a Warming Charm on myself and set off onto the streets of London. I can't go back home right now - not when the townhouse is empty sans all those gloriously happy pictures - so I settle for wandering the town at night instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 15…
> 
> When James finally comes through the fireplace, I barely hesitate on calling him out for his tardiness. "Where have you been?" I ask, not bothering to hide the accusatory tone in my voice.
> 
> "Working," is his response, accompanied by a shrug.
> 
> His nonchalance somehow serves to make me even more annoyed. "You were meant to be home three hours ago," I reply through gritted teeth.
> 
> I'm absolutely picking a fight right now, and I'm not even remotely sorry about it.
> 
> At that, he takes the bait and crosses his arms. "Huh, I wonder how that feels - oh wait."


	15. Complexity #15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the tension snaps, it snaps hard.

James is late.

And not just a little late. More like three hours late.

We're meant to be leaving for this Ministry gala thing in less than an hour, and he's still nowhere to be found. I'm already dressed, hair and makeup completely done - and it's not exactly like any of that was a  _quick_ process either.

But I'd left work right at 5 today because we had this event tonight, even though I've had an impossibly stressful and overwhelming week in the office and could probably have benefitted from an extra hour of two to actually get things sorted properly.

I'd spent over two hours on Thursday doing paperwork that  _wasn't my job_ , because one of the senior Aurors got lazy and didn't do it before leaving for vacation. And somehow, Cresswell decided that it was somehow  _my_ responsibility to pick up his slack.

I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm slowly becoming the person in the investigative department that everyone comes to with the menial tasks they don't want to do themselves, and the thought alone makes my jaw clench.

So James being so extraordinarily late, on top of all the other things I've been dealing with this week, has successfully ticked me off beyond belief.

When James  _finally_ comes through the fireplace, I barely hesitate on calling him out for his tardiness. "Where have you been?" I ask, not bothering to hide the accusatory tone in my voice.

"Working," is his response, accompanied by a shrug.

His nonchalance somehow serves to make me even more annoyed. "You were meant to be home  _three_   _hours_   _ago_ ," I reply through gritted teeth.

I'm absolutely picking a fight right now, and I'm not even remotely sorry about it.

At that, he takes the bait and crosses his arms. "Huh, I wonder how that feels -  _oh_   _wait_."

He turns to walk up the stairs, and I follow him.

"Oh no, you don't get to play the victim here," I snap, because it's completely unfair that he gets to act like this. "You've been getting mad at me for weeks about staying overtime at work but somehow when you do it it's suddenly fine? Absolutely not."

He whirls around when we get to the top of the stairs, and the unexpected stop means that I practically run into him. But it also means I make a second observation. "You were 'working'?" I say sceptically. "Your breath smells like firewhisky."

"Yeah," James responds, as if I haven't just called him out in a lie. "It was a work thing at a pub."

I suppose that's not the most unbelievable thing - although I've never known much of the Magical Law department to conduct their meetings at a pub, as they tend to be just a bit too straitlaced for that - but it still doesn't sit right with me.

"And you couldn't have at least let me know you were going to be home late?"

"It's not like you ever do," he retorts, before heading into the bedroom.

"Well  _I'm_  never coming home late on a night when we have somewhere to be in  _less than half an hour_ ," I argue back, following him. I appreciate that he's actually making an effort to get ready so we can leave on time, but I don't like that he's being so dismissive of me either.

"Why are you being like this?" he snaps, grabbing his black dress robes off the hanger where I'd set them out for him with more force than entirely necessary. "So what, I'm late. We're still going to make it to the damn event on time because unlike you, I don't take five fucking years to get ready."

"I'm 'being like this' because it's not fair that you get to pull the same thing you've been getting mad at me for, and somehow  _you're_ justified in getting mad about it when it's me but the same rules don't apply when it's you."

"It was one fucking evening instead of twenty, that's the goddamn difference," he replies. "And since when have you actually cared about being anywhere on time? Last I checked,  _you're_ always the one who makes us late. You're just fabricating an excuse to get pissed at me at this point."

And maybe I am blowing this out of proportion, but I'm just  _so_ annoyed with  _so many things_ this week, and James being late is the only one of those things I can actually do anything about.

"So I'm just supposed to be totally okay with the fact that you're showing up late, smelling like alcohol, and you probably lied to me just now about being at a work thing?" I put my hands on my hips, staring him down.

His head snaps up in my direction at that. "Why the  _fuck_ would you think I'm lying to you?"

"Because why on earth would the  _Magical Law_ department have a work meeting at a bar?"

"It was with a client," he replies, returning his attention to buttoning up his shirt. "Merlin and fucking Morgana, Abby, when the hell have I ever given you a reason not to trust me? We promised each other no secrets, and I've never kept anything from you since - why the hell would I start now?"

"It's not like you exactly talk to me much anymore," I tell him icily.

He scoffs at that. "Yeah, because every time I do, it turns into this. You find something to get pissed off at me for, it turns into a row when I don't let you blame me for something that's  _not my fault_ , and we resolve it by fucking. Not exactly much room for polite life updates in there."

"It takes two wands to duel, James," I snap. "You're not exactly blameless in this either."

"You're right," he says, grabbing a tie and wrapping it around his neck. "I'm playing along, because I'm not going to let you fucking control me and roll over every time lose your shit over something I've done that you don't approve of."

"That's not what's happening," I protest weakly. But he's probably got at least a little bit of a point - I  _did_ pick this particular argument, after all.

"Isn't it?" He raises an eyebrow at me. "Because that's exactly what this looks like to me. And Merlin, I love you, but you frustrate the hell out of me when you act like a fucking spoiled brat who expects everyone to just fall at your feet. I thought you were supposed to have grown past that by now."

It's said in such a calm, level tone, and maybe that's part of the reason it makes me snap. Because it's clear he's not saying this in the heat of the moment - this is something he's really started believing. And somehow that hurts just enough that I instantaneously feel the need to hurt him in just the same way.

"If I'm turning into my old self, so are you," I shoot back. "You're turning back into that insecure seventh year who feels threatened by the accomplishments of his father and brother… except this time, it's your fiancée. You constantly complain about me working too much because you're jealous - you're jealous that I've got a job I actually like and that I'm actually doing well at, while you're still stuck at a dead-end job you don't even like. You've convinced yourself I'm overshadowing you just like you convinced yourself Al did in school, and you hate it."

Somehow, my insult doesn't spark as much of a reaction as I expected. I thought he would've yelled back, or stormed out, but the only sign that he's heard a word of what I just said is the fact that his hands falter for just a moment as he tightens the knot of his tie around his neck.

"Yeah, okay, sure," he says, looking at his reflection and brushing his hair back with his fingers. "Maybe I  _am_  jealous. But I'm not jealous of  _you_  - I don't envy the fact that you're willingly working yourself into the fucking ground in the slightest. No, if I'm jealous of anything, I'm jealous of your job, and of everything else that you seem to have decided is more important than me."

Finally, his calm façade cracks. "I'm so fucking  _sick_ of being everyone's second choice -  _especially_ yours."

"Can you not see that I'm trying?" I snap. We're officially back to square one - arguing about the very same thing that's been the source of tension all along. "Godric, you're so caught up in your own head and in your own need for attention that you can't see that I'm literally running myself ragged trying to be everything for everyone - and apparently, absolutely none of it is enough."

"I don't understand how I'm meant to have sympathy for you when all you do is use your job being stressful as an excuse to be an absolute bitch to me."

"You're meant to be supportive," I tell him, leaning my hip against the doorframe. "You're literally the only person in my life who seems to have a problem with this. I haven't seen Scorpius in over two months, and he was perfectly understanding of why that's been."

"Yeah, and there's a difference between friends and your goddamn fiancé," he shoots back. "And it seems that, despite that, I've still landed a spot at the very bottom of your priority list."

"You're putting words in my mouth."

He raises his eyebrows at that, taking a step towards me so that I have to look up at him. "Actions speak louder than words, love."

It feels like a slap in the face, him calling me 'love' in the middle of a row, and I stand there in silence for a few seconds. Suddenly, the clock downstairs chimes, bringing me back to the moment and reminding me where we're meant to be going.

"We're going to be late," I hiss, and I don't recall the last time my voice had quite this much venom in it.

"Let's go then," James responds, his voice matching mine in coldness. He holds out his hand stiffly, and I take it, letting him Apparate us to the magically concealed venue near Twickenham that the gala takes place at every year.

When we reappear in the grassy area just outside the ballroom-sized tent, I half expect James to drop my hand like it's burned him. It's certainly my first instinct, anyways.

But instead he simply softens his grip, threading his fingers with mine, as if the events from only a few seconds ago were a lifetime away.

When we walk into the tent, we're both almost immediately handed a glass of champagne - something I'm quite thankful for, really. I'm not sure I can handle tonight sober, especially not when I can still feel my heart pounding from the intensity of our fight.

And naturally, the very first people we run into are none other than James' parents.

"Oh, don't you two look lovely!" Ginny says, smiling. She's in a cream-coloured gown with bell sleeves, looking absolutely stunning.

"One of my star Aurors and her fiancé, how wonderful to see you both," Harry quips. It's evident from the look on his face that he's rather proud of his joke.

And I'd appreciate it too, if it weren't for the very thing I just said to James.

For a split second, James drops my hand, and I have no idea how he's about to react. I wouldn't put it past him to just storm out - between the line I crossed and the way his dad just turned it into a joke, it seems like a pretty fair response.

But instead, I feel him wrap his arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him. "She sure is working hard, that's for sure," he replies, sounding far more positive about it than I know he feels.

"Speaking of which, James," Ginny replies, "how's that Sleekeazy's case going?"

I've heard nothing about a Sleekeazy's case from him - and it apparently seems to be something significant enough that he's been writing his parents about it. Have I really missed so much of his life at this point that Harry and Ginny know more about what's going on in it than I do?

"It's going well enough, all things considered," James replies, and both his parents nod in response. "I had a meeting with them just before this, actually."

He tightens his grip around my waist for just a moment - a very clear 'see?' type of gesture.

I suppose I was too quick to accuse him of lying after all.

The conversation continues for a few minutes longer, but eventually is punctuated by the arrival of Bill, Fleur, Dom, and Louis.

Harry and Ginny eventually break off to talk to just Bill and Fleur, leaving James and I with Dom and Louis. I can't help but notice that Markus isn't with him - I'm  _still_ not entirely sure what the state of their relationship is, honestly. I'm pretty sure they're properly together at this point, which is why it's confusing that he's not here tonight.

"I take back everything bad I ever said about this gala," Dom announces, holding up her glass. "Their specialty drinks are incredible."

"It's kind of sad that the thing that makes you happiest is free alcohol," Louis replies cheekily. "You're a big-time Quidditch star - it's not like you can't afford to buy your own drinks."

"Everything's better when it's free, it doesn't matter how much money I make," Dom retorts, taking a sip of her drink, which has changed from pink to blue in the time since she first held it up. "And professional Quidditch doesn't pay  _that_ much, you know."

"It pays more than Brudge's Experimental Potions, that's for fucking sure," Louis replies.

Louis was supposedly all set to take a potions job at the Ministry, and then abruptly changed course just a few weeks before graduation. Brudge's specialises in finding new potions to address new medical issues, so Louis is really doing some pretty incredible, life-saving work - but incredible, life-saving work rarely pays well.

"Oh, hush, you're doing just fine," Dom says, rolling her eyes. "Not to mention, you've got that sugar daddy of yours anyways."

"He's  _not_ a sugar daddy, you twat," Louis replies. "He's twenty-seven - that's only six years older than me. Isn't Rajhi like four years older than you?"

Dom flushes. "You and Louis are dating. Rajhi and I are doing nothing of the sort - I don't see why that's relevant."

"Please, Dom," James chimes in, laughing. "Even I can see that you both fancy each other, and I'm supposedly the emotionally obtuse one out of all of us."

This seems to be the night of people unknowingly putting their feet in their mouth, because James has absolutely no idea what's happened between Rajhi and Dom; if he had, I'm positive he wouldn't have said that just now.

Dom just blinks at him; where she'd normally give him a sassy response, she's apparently got nothing right now.

Whatever happened between them must've been big.

"I'm going to go to the loo real quick. James, would you mind grabbing me a drink from the bar while I'm gone?" I ask, looking up at him sweetly. It's the first time I've looked him in the eye since we got here.

"I'll go with you, Abby. Lou, could you get me a refill too?" Dom adds, clearly catching on.

"Why do  _we_ have to get the - " Louis' complaint is cut off by a death glare from both me and his sister - and the combination apparently just intimidating enough to convince him to drop the point.

Both he and James head off in the direction of the bar, and I start walking towards the back of the tent with Dom.

"You spoke to him," I say plainly.

"Yeah." Dom's usually loud and confident voice is much more subdued than normal.

"What happened?" I ask, as we duck into a secluded corner.

"Well, you were right about it."

I raise my eyebrows at that. "He fancies you?"

She nods. "He all but told me he's in love with me."

"And?"

"And I told him I don't like him like that," she replies, and it comes out almost like a question.

"You're sure of that?"

"Yes," she replies, more resolute this time. "He's changed a  _lot_ since I first met him, but I'm not into him romantically. He's one of my best friends, but that's all I ever really want him to be."

A best friend who you've also had incredible sex with doesn't  _sound_ like something destined to be purely platonic to me, but I know that once Dom has set her mind on something, it's pretty damn hard to talk her out of it.

Hopefully she'll eventually come to that realisation on her own though.

"So what happens now?" I ask.

"He said - he asked for space, so that he can get over me," she tells me. "And I get it, I do - and honestly, I expected him to be way more of an asshole about getting rejected than he was - so I feel like I owe it to him to at least respect his wishes, but it's… it's hard. I miss him."

To be honest, Rajhi taking it as well as he did kind of surprises me as well. He plays the role of the classic entitled Quidditch star so well, that it's almost alarming when he doesn't fit the stereotype.

"I know," I say sympathetically. "But he just asked for time, yeah? He didn't say that you can't be friends anymore - you'll go back to normal eventually."

She smiles a little at that. "Yeah, he just wants time. And then we'll be back to ruining Richards' life like always."

For someone who  _was_ a Quidditch captain for two years, it's shocking that Dom get so much joy out of terrorising her captain now.

"Then it's all good." At least, until she actually has to come to terms with the fact that she definitely has feelings for him - and hopefully at that point it's not too late.

"And if you need some company between now and then," I add, placing a hand on her arm, "let me know. I'll be there whenever you need me."

Merlin knows I need reasons to get out of my own house.

"I just might take you up on that," she grins. "Let's go find James and Lou, yeah? They've both most definitely put together by now that we weren't actually going to the loo."

"Yeah, they probably have."

The boys are exactly where we'd left them. Dom takes her drink from her brother and I grab mine from James. His hand almost immediately snakes around my middle again, although this time, his hand sits a good bit lower. It's an especially possessive-feeling gesture.

"James!" I look in the direction of the voice, only to be greeted by some senior Ministry official whose name I don't remember. He's in his sixties and rather round, and his wife - Eleanore, I'm pretty sure - is at least twenty years his junior.

And so somehow we get pulled into conversation after conversation, involving a lot of polite laughter and me showing my engagement ring on multiple occasions. James and I have, rather effortlessly, slid into the role of perfect socialites - something we've perfected over the years.

But there's two layers to our acting tonight.

In seventh year, I remember eating by myself in the kitchens and thinking that that was the height of loneliness. It turns out I was wrong - because there's something even worse about feeling alone amidst the lights, the party, and the ballgowns. Absolutely nothing about this is meant to feel lonely.

And yet, James' arm around my waist - which has so often been a comforting gesture - feels like nothing of the sort right now. And instead of having someone to share secret moments with in a crowded room, we're faking our connection to each other just as much as we're pretending to enjoy these shallow formalities with people whose names we can barely remember.

That same numbness that overtook me earlier this week starts clouding my mind again; I can't decide if the lack of emotion makes faking it easier or harder.

But regardless, I laugh politely at all the mediocre jokes made, throw an adoring look up at James every so often, and let him sweetly kiss me on the temple once or twice.

I don't start to feel anything real again until almost two hours later, when I spot someone out of the corner of my eye who makes me blood run cold.

I shouldn't be surprised to see her at this gala - she works for the Ministry, after all, and has been at these events every year prior - but it's especially awkward this year.

"My mum's here," I say under my breath, but James hears it nonetheless.

"Oh. Shit," he replies. "We can go hide with my parents?"

But it's too late - she's seen us and is heading our way. And we're not exactly engrossed in conversation with anyone else right now, so a confrontation is practically unavoidable.

"Abby, dear, how have you been?"

She asks the question so casually, as if I haven't all but cut her out of my life over the past few years. When she refused to tolerate me getting closer with my dad and Diana, I made my choice; for whatever reason, she still seems to think I might change my mind.

It's bizarre. I don't know what she thinks she stands to gain by 'winning me back' - she's never been an emotionally invested type of mum, so I truthfully have no idea what her motive behind regaining my affection actually is.

"I've been well," I reply stiffly.

"When's the wedding?" she asks, and I realise exactly why she's here.

I never sent her an invitation - I couldn't actually make the decision when I went to mail them, so there's an invite addressed to her sitting on a shelf in the living room, waiting for me to either mail it or burn it.

"You'll know the details if Abby decides she wants you there," James chimes in, and for the first time tonight, the way his grip tightens on my waist feels more protective than possessive. I'm grateful that, regardless of how mad he most definitely is at me underneath all these layers of faking it, he's still willing to come to my defense.

My mother gives him a reproachful look - their relationship has been rocky at best, because James kind of hated her from the start - before turning back to me. "You're really going to invite your father's cheap excuse for a second wife and not your actual mother?"

"You're actually proving precisely why I  _didn't_ want you there," I snap, and all that anger I'd put on hold earlier tonight comes out again, this time directed at a new source. "All you'll do is stir up unnecessary, petty drama, because you can't grow up enough to move past a relationship that ended almost ten years ago."

I loosen James' grip around my waist, lacing my fingers with his instead. "Don't wait up on an invite. You can read the highlights in the  _Daily Prophet_ the next morning like everyone else."

And with that, I storm away, all but pulling James with me. When we reach my destination - the table where most of his family is currently sat - he gives me a curious look. "That was - "

"I know," I reply simply, not really wanting to discuss things any further.

I know he's torn - because on one hand, he's never gotten on with my mum and is definitely more than pleased to see me put her in her place, but also, I think he knows exactly where I drew all that anger from.

"Want another drink?"

At this point, that seems like the best option to calm me back down, so I nod. "Yes please."

 

* * *

 

The gala eventually winds down, and most people begin to go their separate ways - some more intoxicated than others. For the most part, all the Weasleys and Potters in attendance are relatively sober by comparison - kind of miraculous, really - although it may just be more a testament to their genetic alcohol tolerance than to some sort of restraint.

I'd normally be more exhausted after one of these events -  _especially_ given the week I've had - but for some reason, I'm oddly wired when James and I head to the Apparition point.

"You tired?" he asks, in a much stonier tone than he'd had when we were with his family just a few moments ago.

"Not really."

"Good," he replies, before Apparating us into our living room.

We've barely been home for five seconds and James has already closed the space between us, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin on my neck and his hands fumbling with the zipper on my dress. It's like we've completely given up the preamble of fighting at this point, and instead we're just jumping straight into the 'shagging each other senseless' part of this sequence of ours.

Although perhaps the explosion before the gala counts for something.

***

Eventually, James finally gets the zipper on my dress to work for him, and he makes quick work of getting it off of me. "You looked fucking fantastic tonight, by the way," he murmurs against my jaw.

I have half a mind to tell him I bought that dress for this exact moment - for him to take it off - but I settle for pulling his lips to mine. I also start working my way through his clothing - he's still fully-dressed, while I'm already in just my bra and knickers.

The tie and jacket are easy enough, but the shirt is a little more difficult. I'm almost tempted to just rip it off and deal with the damage to the buttons later - it would certainly fit the mood, given the way that James not-so-gently shoved me up against the wall a few moments ago - but I'm not sure I've got the strength to manage it all in one go.

So instead I fumble with the stubborn little things for a bit longer, before finally pulling it off of him and switching my focus to the lower half of his body. I get his belt undone and start working on his trousers, but end up entirely derailed from that plan of action when his hand slides down the front of my knickers.

He mutters a 'fuck' against my lips as I gasp and instinctively roll my hips against his touch, and apparently that reaction is all he needs as indication to keep doing exactly what he'd started.

Things beyond that become a bit of a blur - at some point, I unhook my bra and James finishes the process of his trousers and pants - and then suddenly, he's grabbing me by the shoulders and spinning me around so that I'm facing the wall.

I'm no stranger to this particular position, but what takes me by surprise is one of James' hands sliding into my hair and pulling -  _hard_.

James has always had a thing for my hair - he's got a particular proclivity for messing it up far more than necessary - but this is new. It's not necessarily something I would've expected myself to be into, but somehow the pain of it intensifies everything else. The force of it also makes my back arch more than usual, and then he's inside me, and  _fuck_.

The new angle and the mixture of sensations - combined with some help from my own hand - means I go over the edge two separate times before James slumps against me, breathing hard and finally relinquishing his tight grip on both my shoulder and my hair.

***

"That was," he pants, his breath hot against the skin on my neck.

"Incredible," I finish.

James and I have never been  _bad_ at sex - although no one's really  _good_ at seventeen either - but this felt like something wholly different.

It's miserable that it's come as a result of us both being furious with each other, but my body isn't quite capable of making that distinction.

My head, on the other hand, is all over the place.

"I'm going to go shower," I say, squirming out from the space between the wall and James.

"Want me to join you?"

While I've got half a mind to say yes - and to let him have me against  _that_ wall too - I don't feel like that's exactly the most productive move. As all the memories from earlier tonight come rushing back, I realise that, once again, shagging hasn't solved anything between us, no matter how mind-blowing it might have been.

"No thanks," I reply, and I cringe when my words come out colder than expected. "I just - I need space right now."

He doesn't reply, so I turn and head up the stairs to our bathroom.

After I've showered and changed into a dark green silk slip, I climb into our bed, in the vain hope that, by the time James is out of the shower as well, I'll be asleep. I don't think talking is going to get us anywhere tonight - it's most likely only going to lead to yet another argument - and I'm too tired to manage that.

Predictably, I'm not asleep by the time he gets into bed with me, but I fake it as best I can, laying with my back to him and my eyes tightly shut. But while I remain perfectly motionless, James can't seem to stay still; he readjusts every few minutes for what has to be at least half an hour - and clearly, neither of us are any closer to sleep than we were when we got here.

This time, James is the one who leaves the bed first. I can tell from the way he gingerly sits up that he thinks I'm asleep, and is trying not to wake me.

"You're my best friend," he whispers, and his voice cracks in the middle. "What's happening to us?"

I can see it with the lights out, can hear it in the silence - this is breaking him.

It's breaking me too; when the adrenaline rush fades and the raw anger dissipates, I regret the particularly cruel ways I've said things, and it feels like maybe we're both making things into bigger problems than they are.

But I don't know what to do anymore - apologies haven't worked, ignoring the issue hasn't worked, pretending to be fine hasn't worked. There's some sort of fundamental disconnect between the two of us that wasn't there before. And part of me can't help but wonder if this was really only a matter of time - with us being such different people, personality-wise, were we always destined to hit a wall?

I think back to Caroline's statement from a few weeks ago, about not being able to pretend that nothing else matters in the face of love. James had so adamantly argued the opposition when I'd mentioned it to him, but I can't help but wonder if he still thinks that now.

Because I'm not so sure I do - not anymore.

"I'm sorry," James says again, in that similar soft tone, and I can almost instinctively tell that he's crying.

And part of me wants to turn to him, to wrap my arms around him and whisper apologies into his skin until I actually start to mean them, but instead I find myself glued in place, still faking sleep.

My frustrations with him aren't entirely unwarranted, and I've meant almost everything I've said to him, even if it wasn't always in the nicest possible manner, and that stubborn part somehow wins out over the softer one.

After a few more beats of silence, James gets up, putting on a pair of joggers before walking out of the open bedroom door.

When I his footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs, I gingerly get out of bed myself, wrapping my dressing gown around me and walking out to the stairs, where I sit down on the top step. James can't see me from here, and I can't see him either.

But in the stillness of the house, I can hear almost everything happening below me - I hear him put the kettle on, hear him pace the floor a few times, hear him cast a Muffliato charm before presumably punching something, based on the way the walls rattle slightly.

It strikes me that he might leave again, and for who knows how long this time. And even though he's frustrated me beyond belief tonight, the idea of him going away is enough to bring tears to my eyes.

I wrap my arms around my knees, pulling them to my chest. And I stay there, crying on the staircase and silently begging him not to go.

When I hear him take the kettle off the stove - and I'm at least mostly sure he's not going to disappear on me in the middle of the night, I stand up and go back to bed.

I finally fall asleep to the sound of James' steps still echoing through the kitchen, the even rhythm ringing through my head like a death march.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 16…
> 
> It's an impeccably-timed picture, really. True to the photograph's caption, James' hand is resting on my bum in an almost-possessive manner, and I'm looking up at him, smiling softly at whatever it is that he's in the middle of saying.
> 
> If it weren't for the real context of the photo - for the fact that everything about this photo is entirely staged - it would most definitely end up on the photo wall.
> 
> But as it stands, I throw the paper in the bin, thinking to myself what an absurd twist of fate it is that the one time the Prophet publishes a story about James and I's relationship being 'perfect,' it's actually anything but.


	16. Complexity #16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies don't mean much when they come a little too late.

By the time I wake up the next morning, James has come back to bed, and is sleeping soundly in the space next to me.

The morning sun streaming through our curtains sheds minimal new light on the situation, so I just lay there, watching his chest rise and fall for a few moments.

The man in front of me looks nothing like the one that called me a bitch last night, or passive-aggressively brought up my work situation in front of his parents. This is just James, the endlessly trusting and selfless boy I fell in love with at seventeen.

I'm so deep in thought, propped up on one elbow and thinking about James, that it takes me a moment to realise that his eyes are open, and he's watching me curiously.

I meet his gaze, and for a moment I think I see a flash of emotion in his eyes. But it's gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by a cold, blank expression.

And it hurts that the person in this world that I once knew better than I knew myself is starting to feel like a stranger all over again.

Like the fact that I don't even know what his parents meant by his Sleekeazy's thing at work. James used to tell me every little thing that happened at the office - I knew far more information than I needed to, regardless of how boring and mundane - and now, I know nothing.

Honestly, he could've completely changed his career path and I'm not sure I would even know about it.

And so today I resolve to do better, to actually ask him about things and try to hold a normal conversation. I'm going to hold up my end of things and not intentionally pick a fight, and if he gets defensive or stroppy about something, well, then that one's not on me.

"I'm going to start getting ready for brunch," I say, doing my best to sound pleasant, "We've got an hour or so, I think."

James hums in acknowledgement, before getting out of bed himself. If he's surprised by my change of tune, it doesn't show.

He heads downstairs to make coffee, while I set about washing my face and doing my makeup. I pull my hair up into a high ponytail, and put on a pair of black skinny jeans and an oversized burnt orange jumper.

As I'm pulling the sweater on, my ring gets snagged on the sleeve. After I manage to get it unstuck, I can't help but stare at it - and the tiara ring next to it - for a moment.

If our lives weren't so inextricably intertwined already - engaged, living together, sharing the same friend group - would we have walked away already? If we hadn't gone through quite so much at the start of our relationship, would we still be holding on after all this fighting?

Would we have already reached the point where leaving each other is easier than staying?

James tears me from my thoughts. "Which one?"

I look up to see him holding up two flannel shirts, one red and one dark green. I survey what he's already got on - a pair of jeans and a faded Weird Sisters t-shirt - and answer, "Dark green."

"Thanks," he replies, pulling it on and rolling up the sleeves. "Coffee's ready downstairs, by the way."

"Thank you."

I grab my black handbag off the hook, heading downstairs where there is, in fact, a pot of coffee waiting for me. I pour myself a cup and grab the recently-delivered  _Prophet_  from where James left it, still tied up.

I flip through mindlessly for a bit, but I come to a sudden halt when I see a number of faces I recognise.

There's a full article covering the Ministry gala, full of 'notable' attendees. In the first picture, Harry and Ginny stand together, Ginny talking animatedly to Audrey as Harry looks on with interest.

And a few inches down, there's a picture of James and me. I take a peek at the caption underneath.

_Everyone's favourite golden couple, James Potter and Abigail Winchester, looking as picture perfect as ever. And that hand placement…_

It blows my mind that we can somehow be the wizarding world's 'golden couple' and their favourite source of fabricated scandal all in one go.

I look back up at the image of us again.

It's an impeccably-timed picture, really. True to the photograph's caption, James' hand is resting on my bum in an almost-possessive manner, and I'm looking up at him, smiling softly at whatever it is that he's in the middle of saying.

If it weren't for the real context of the photo - for the fact that everything about this photo is entirely staged - it would most definitely end up on the photo wall.

But as it stands, I throw the paper in the bin, thinking to myself what an absurd twist of fate it is that the one time the  _Prophet_  publishes a story about James and I's relationship being 'perfect,' it's actually anything but.

James comes down the stairs a few minutes later, still holding his cup of coffee. He sits at the table across from me, and we sit in awkward silence for a moment.

"What's going on with Sleekeazy's?" I blurt out.

James just shrugs, looking down into his coffee mug. "They've just run into financial trouble, is all. They've gotten the Magical Law department involved to settle a dispute."

It doesn't feel like the full story - James wouldn't have told his parents about it if it weren't something more significant that just that.

"And that's all?"

"Yes, that's all," he replies, a definite edge to his voice. "It's just another unimportant thing at my dead-end job."

I have to stop myself from letting my jaw drop. "That's not - I didn't mean it like that."

James blinks. "Oh."

"I was asking because it seemed like it was important to you," I add, sliding my mug back and forth in my hands. "If you've told your parents about it, it's definitely something."

"I mean, yeah," he says. "It's just interesting because it used to be a family company, and it's just… it's been giving me ideas, that's all."

"Oh, okay."

"Why do you suddenly care?" James asks out of the blue, and I don't miss the accusatory nature of the question.

I'm not going to snap at him - I've promised myself that. So I answer truthfully. "Because the gala last night made me realise I've missed things. We don't talk as much anymore, and I - I miss it."

He studies me for a moment, then sighs. "I miss it too."

We fall silent again, although this time it's at least somewhat less awkward. I wait for him to say something, to maybe bring up the incident from last night and the comments he'd made while he thought I was asleep, but nothing comes of it.

I would mention it myself, but part of me feels like it's not something he  _wanted_ me to witness to begin with.

Once we've both finished our coffees, we leave to meet Freddy, Dom, and Louis for brunch. As a change of pace, we're actually somewhat early - the only other person here is Dom.

"Table for five?" I confirm with her, as we're walking up to the maître d'.

Dom shakes her head. "Six. Lou's bringing his New Year's boy, or… whatever they are at this point."

So Markus is joining us. I can't decide how I feel about that - James has never met him before, and Markus  _is_ the person that the  _Prophet_ accused me of having an affair with.

Almost as if they've been summoned, Louis and Markus walk in the restaurant entrance just as I put in our table request.

"Morning," Lou says as greeting. "Oh! James, this is Markus. Markus, James."

"Nice to meet you," Markus says, grinning at my fiancé and extending his hand for James to shake. "I'm the guy Abby's cheating on you with, if the paper's to be believed. I'm with Lou if it's not."

It's definitely meant as a lighthearted joke, but I want nothing more than to sink into the floor right about now.

James doesn't quite see the humour in it either, and just shakes Markus' hand stiffly. "Nice to meet you too."

Markus shoots me a confused look - he knows James from all of my descriptions as the type of bloke who makes a joke out of anything, so he's rightfully surprised by the fact that his comment didn't go over well. I just shrug in response; I don't have an explanation to give him.

We're escorted to our table, and somehow, I end up between James and Markus - which really, would be a recipe for disaster if we were at a wizarding brunch spot. But luckily, we're in the middle of Muggle London, and no one here cares who I'm marrying.

It's sometimes strange to realise how ardently I want to stay  _out_ of the spotlight nowadays - I've always liked attention, but right now, anything the media does only seems to make things worse.

We all settle in and start looking at the menus - because of that, I entirely miss Freddy walking into the restaurant.

"Hi, can we get an extra chair over here please?" he asks one of the waitresses walking by, and I snap my head up to look at him. "My girlfriend needs a seat."

Sure enough, Caroline's standing next to him, in a striped shirt and black pinafore dress, and she's rolling her eyes at him. "So much for subtlety, babe."

He turns back to her, gesturing for her to take the open seat - apparently his phrasing was more for the sake of the announcement rather than of any intent to actually make her wait for a chair - and grinning. "I'm about as subtle as an Erumpent in a wand shop, you should know that by now."

"Oh trust me, I know," she replies, and it's only then that Caroline actually turns to face any of the other people sitting at the table, all of whom are watching the two of them with a whole range of surprised expressions.

It seems that I was the only one who knew about this particular development before just now.

A waitress comes by, bearing an extra chair and place setting for Freddy, and he sits down next to Caroline.

Once he's seated, James asks the question that I'm sure everyone else wants an answer to as well. "Girlfriend?"

Freddy beams, turning to look at Caroline affectionately. "Yep."

"When did that happen?"

"We've been getting our bearings for a few weeks now," Caroline explains. "But I think it was honestly probably destined to happen at some point."

I watch as James' hand lifts off his lap and hovers for a second - it looks like he was about to reach over to me, to give some sort of 'we were right, go us' type of gesture, but had second thoughts about it.

So instead, I reach over and lace my fingers with his own, giving his hand a squeeze. If he's not going to make an effort to bring things between us back to normal again, maybe it's up to me to do it.

"So the whole 'I don't know what's going to happen to us' waffling you were doing just a few weeks ago was faked?" Dom asks, trying to sound offended but smirking nonetheless.

"Keeping things a secret was easier for our sakes," Caroline replies with a shrug. "And technically, you'll find that I never actually lied about anything. Deliberately misled, perhaps, but no full-blown lies."

"Fair enough," Dom says, brushing it off easily. "Well I, for one, am absolutely fucking delighted for you two."

"Thanks, Dom," Freddy laughs. "James and Abby no longer have the title of 'only relationship to survive past Hogwarts,' and I'm quite fucking thrilled to have provided a threat to their reign."

Honestly, we're threatening our reign pretty well enough on our own, thank you very much.

I feel like Freddy's expecting one of us to react to his jab, but neither of us do. Instead, there's a bit of an awkward lull.

Luckily, Dom breaks it after just a few moments. "You know, this brunch very quickly morphed from three friends and a couple to me massively seventh-wheeling this whole affair."

"And you have no one to blame for that than yourself," Freddy retorts.

"You really could get yourself a boyfriend at the snap of your fingers, you know," Caroline adds on. And I don't think she knows just how on-the-nose her comment is, because I'm sure Rajhi would immediately drop his whole getting-over-her act if she told him she felt the same.

Dom just rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "Alright, I need to stop making these jokes - they always end up going down the same road."

A waitress comes by to take our drink orders, resulting in a collective decision in favour of bottomless mimosas. That's the only good thing that's come from today at this point, really.

 

* * *

 

By the time we're ready to leave, we're all significantly less sober than we were when we got here and we've been responsible for at least 2 broken champagne glasses. Well, actually,  _Freddy's_ been responsible for 2 broken champagne glasses, given his propensity towards dramatic hand gestures when he's been drinking. The waitress threatened to bring him a kid's cup next time if he broke a third one.

Honestly, beyond the whole 'not being photographed' thing, this is precisely why it's good that we don't frequent wizard brunch places where we'd be recognised. We're a terror.

Markus mentions work things once or twice, and I can almost feel James tensing up any time it comes up. Or any time Markus so much as leans over to me to make a joke, really, which is just a bit strange for him.

James has never been the overly possessive type, but he's been weird about it both last night and this morning. And I have no idea what that's about.

It's normally something I'd call him out on, but I seem to be doing that too much lately, according to him.

And I'm not starting a fight today.

When we get back home, James walks into the kitchen, picking up our now-clean cups from the sink and putting them away. Afterwards, he looks around for a moment. "Where'd today's  _Prophet_ go?"

It takes me a moment to remember. "Oh, I threw it in the bin."

"Why?" he asks, sounding annoyed. "I haven't read it yet."

The real reason I threw it away - being annoyed at the paper calling us a golden couple at the exact moment when we're as far from that as we've ever been - isn't something I really want to say out loud right now, so I brush the question off. "I just wasn't thinking about the fact that you'd want to read it too, my bad."

"Because you never think about what I want these days, do you?"

I stand in stunned silence for a few moments. For someone who spent an awful lot of time yesterday accusing me of starting fights for petty reasons,  _this_ is really the thing he wants to turn into an argument? Me throwing the newspaper in the bin?

I remind myself that I'm supposed to be taking the high road. "I can fetch it out for you," I say, and I have every intention of leaving it at that, but then my tongue gets the better of me and my recent internal reminder goes out the window entirely. "I can also hand-feed you grapes and fan you with a giant palm leaf while you read it, if that's what you want from me."

"It'd be better than you treating me like an afterthought all the time," he retorts, before crossing the room and reaching into the bin himself.

I have to stop myself from bursting into tears of frustration for the second time in 24 hours, because I don't possibly know how many other ways I can convey to him that that's  _not_ what I'm doing. "You've never been - and never will be - an afterthought. You're one of the most important people in the world to me."

"Well then act like it." He pulls the paper out. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to give this a read and figure out why you were so keen on binning it so quickly. We can finish this later."

I watch as he crosses the room, taking a seat at the table and holding the paper up in front of his face. If I had the tiniest bit less self-control, I'd walk over to him and rip it out of his hands, because treating me like a task he can 'finish later' - especially when I've just said something that's left me feeling so emotionally vulnerable - isn't okay.

"What ever happened to 'you're my best friend'?" I say softly. "Because this doesn't seem very friendly, if you ask me."

And I'd originally decided not to bring that up, but his hot and cold behaviour is driving me up the wall.

My comment gets him to drop the paper, and he looks at me oddly. As I try to decipher what the look in his eyes might mean, I realise that I've essentially acknowledged that I'd heard him cry and apologise last night and chose not to respond to it.

Which doesn't look all that great for me, now that I think about it.

But if James has made that connection, he doesn't say anything about it. Instead, he goes a totally different direction. "You  _are_ my best friend, and I love you a whole fucking lot. That doesn't mean you're immune to me calling you out for being selfish and stubborn and honestly the worst possible version of yourself when it's  _true_."

I'm shocked into silence for the second time since we got home, and James uses the resulting lull in the conversation to pull the paper up in front of his face again. "I'm going to go back to reading now."

I just stare at the side of the  _Prophet_  facing me for almost a full minute, until I finally figure out how to form words again. "Don't shut me out, that's not fair."

He scoffs from behind the paper. "Right, because you've given me  _so_  many reasons to let you in. Apparently, you prefer ignoring me when it's convenient for you and only bringing it up again when it's relevant to whatever bullshit point you're trying to make."

I don't know how to defend myself on that front. "I - "

"Just… fuck off, Abby," he says icily, and his tone alone is enough to make my blood run cold.

And for once, I don't actually have anything to say to him. I don't have any desire to keep this argument going.

So I follow his directions, turning on my heel and walking out of the room.

 

* * *

 

James doesn't speak to me properly again until Sunday afternoon; he'd disappeared to go out for drinks at some point on Saturday evening, and I'd been asleep by the time he finally got home.

But when he does decide to approach me, I'm almost at the end of my book and have absolutely no interest in talking to him. I'm curled up on the couch under a blanket, and he comes and sits in the space next to me.

And maybe it's fuelled by the idealistic romance novel I'm reading, but I can't help but immediately think of all the other times he's done the same thing on this couch, when, instead of sitting next to me stiffly like he's doing now, he'd wrap his arm around my shoulders and pull me into him, resting a book of his own on his left knee.

Oh, how wonderful things were back then.

But as it stands, I want nothing to do with him. I made an effort to be the bigger person, to at least maintain  _some_ semblance of civility between us, and he shut me down. And then proceeded to ignore me for the better part of a weekend.

For someone whose constant complaint is that I'm not spending enough time with him, he sure isn't making any sort of effort on his end.

"I'm sorry," he eventually says, staring at his hands folded in his lap instead of at me.

The fact that I'm honestly not sure what exactly he's apologising for is a testament to just how complex this tension between us has become.

But regardless of what the apology is meant for, I don't want to hear it right now. He doesn't get to be the sole decider of when's a convenient time for us to be fighting or making up.

So I turn his words against him, not even looking up from the pages of my book as I do so. "Fuck off, James."

There's a long silence.

"Okay," he replies softly, before leaving me alone in the living room.

Other than a quick shag later that evening, it's the only time I interact with him for the rest of the weekend.

 

* * *

 

Work on Monday brings a whole new set of frustrations. Al almost immediately makes a 'golden couple' joke that I have to pretend to laugh at, and on more than one occasion, Markus starts to ask about me and James. I redirect the conversation both times, but I'd have to be blind to think he can't tell something's up.

I can only hope he doesn't actually try to call me out on it. I don't know what I'd say if he did.

Despite my own day being mediocre at best, it's an exciting day for the Junior Auror section of the office as a whole, purely because of Aaliyah.

Not long after lunch, she disappears into a Senior Auror's office, and comes out positively beaming.

"You know how I'd been looking into that case about illegal crossbreed fighting?"

I nod. She's mentioned the case more than a couple times - apparently a ring of wizards were crossbreeding a whole host of magical creatures that aren't meant to be crossbred, and then putting them in fighting rings. It's illegal on multiple levels, but arresting individuals hasn't seemed to reduce the number of fights as a whole thus far.

"I found a lead on the ringleader, gave the report to the Hit Wizards, and they arrested him and a bunch of his associates last night," she explains. "I've potentially just shut down a whole crime ring."

"That's incredible," Al replies. "Like, really - way to kick some serious ass."

I grin at her - it's one of the first genuine smiles I've given in a while. The fact that she's done something this big is incredible not only for her personally, but also for the department as a whole - it's a nice reminder that maybe the 'girly Junior Aurors' aren't entirely useless after all.

I've got no idea if it'll actually change how people treat her - or me, for that matter - but fantasizing about a world in which Aaliyah killing it on this case leads to a fairer acknowledgement of the work done by the Junior Aurors is at least something pleasant to think about.

"Look at you, making a name for yourself," I tell her. "I can't wait to see you as department head one day."

She laughs that off, even though I know for a fact she'd love nothing more than to eventually run the Auror office. And she'd probably be damn good at it too.

"Baby steps," she answers. "This is one case, not taking down Voldemort."

But despite it only being 'one case,' it's a big deal nonetheless, and we still leave work early to go out for a round of drinks. It's just the three of us and we're only out for about an hour, but it's still a nice way to unwind and rant about work-related things.

After we all leave the pub, I realise that I've got two options from here: go home, or go back to the Ministry. And I have absolutely no interest in returning to the hell that is my shared space with James, and he's used to me coming home late at this point anyways, so I go back to the office.

It's largely emptied out at this point, but there's a decent number of office windows still illuminated. I'm not the only one staying late.

I sit down in my office chair, pulling my knees into my chest as I start sorting through records of 'pro-magical isolation' sentiments.

I'm so engrossed in my work - and I've got no idea how much time has passed - that when I hear someone say my name, I jump.

When I look up at the source of the voice, it's Harry, standing just a few feet from my desk. "Er, hi," I reply, letting the paper I was holding fall back onto my desk.

He rocks back and forth on his heels for a moment, before cutting straight to the point. "Is everything okay?"

Somehow, I get the feeling this isn't a work-related question. But I play dumb nonetheless. "What do you mean?"

"I was just wanting to make sure… I know engagements can sometimes add stress to a relationship."

"What makes you think that there's any stress?" I ask, still feigning ignorance.

He gives me a look - I recognise it rather clearly as the look I get from James whenever I say something he finds ridiculous. "It's clear something's wrong, Abby," he tells me. "I've known you for long enough to know when something's causing you trouble - and given that you've been staying in the office late every day for the past couple of weeks, I can't help but imagine it's something going on at home."

I'm really not in the mood to have this conversation right now, especially not with him. "With all due respect, Mr. Potter, you're my boss. What is or isn't going on in my personal life really isn't any of your business."

"And you're also almost my daughter-in-law," he replies. "And given that you're engaged to my son, one could make a very convincing argument that your personal life  _is_  actually kind of my business."

He pauses for a moment. "But you clearly don't want to talk about it - and I'm not going to force you to. But if you change your mind, you know where I am."

He walks away, leaving me with an overflowing sense of guilt. I shouldn't have snapped at him like that - not just because he's my boss and my fiancé's father, but because he's genuinely concerned and wants to help. And while I don't think there's anything he could do to fix the situation - and I  _definitely_  don't feel like telling him the specifics of how James and I's 'fights' have been manifesting - the fact that he's offering means a lot.

James' family is yet another one of those things I'm just not sure how I'd ever be able to walk away from.

And so once Harry's out of the office, I pack up my stuff and head home.

If nothing else, I should probably at least stop actively trying to avoid my own fiancé by hiding out in the Auror office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've somehow gotten behind on posting this story here from my update schedule on hpft - enjoy a double update this saturday as my way of catching up!!
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 17…
> 
> "Oh Merlin, James is probably freaking out right about now," I say, trying to figure out where Dom put my shoes.
> 
> "It's fine, Abby," Dom replies. "I sent him an owl last night saying you were staying with me when I realised you were in no state to Apparate or Floo anywhere. Your shoes are by the door, by the way."
> 
> Honestly, I shouldn't even be surprised that Dom's my saving grace. It's a pretty regular occurrence at this point. "You're a literal angel, you know that?"
> 
> She takes a sip of her tea. "I do what I can."


	17. Complexity #17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drowning your sorrows never really has the intended effect.

Dom eventually takes me up on my offer to come hang out with her while Rajhi's still doing his whole getting-over-her thing.

I tell James that I'm going out for the night, and he just kind of hums in acknowledgement. We've been talking even less than usual these past few days.

I try not to think about that too much by the time I get to Wimbourne though, because Dom's waiting for me at her flat with a bottle of vodka. I pour myself a generous amount before adding in whatever random juice she's got lying around, telling myself that I deserve to get properly drunk tonight.

I haven't let myself properly let go in a while - I've been cautious not to cross the line from tipsy to drunk, because I've seen exactly what that does to James and I's arguments, and we really don't need anything making our fights worse than they already are.

But tonight, James isn't with me, and those rules don't apply. So I'm going to go drink for drink with Dom and maybe let myself forget about everything for just a little bit.

I sit next to Dom on her couch, and take the first sip of my (incredibly strong) drink. I have to suppress a desire to shudder as the first taste of vodka hits my tongue.

"Okay, now that it's just the two of us and we've got all the time in the world, I want the full story," I say, setting my drink down on Dom's coffee table.

"What do you want to know?"

"Well first of all,  _how_ ," I say. "Because yes, you were both drunk and I'm the poster child for sleeping with people you shouldn't when you've had too much to drink, but there's always a deeper meaning there - not to mention that I'd love to know what part of your usual drinking routine managed to spurn this one on."

Dom takes a long sip of her drink before responding. "You already know the answer to the first part - there really isn't any deeper meaning there. When the idea was first mentioned, I thought it'd be fun to do a no-strings-attached one-night-only thing, because I figured it'd be interesting to see if our Quidditch chemistry carried over to the bedroom. Sex doesn't always have to have an emotional element attached. And Rajhi's motivation… I thought it was the same as mine, but you know the truth about that one as well."

Then she laughs. "As for the actual decision-making process, we were playing Truth or Drink, and I figured I'd force him into drinking if I asked him if he'd fuck me - because like, the answer to that one is kind of awkward either way, or at least  _I_ thought it would be - but he just answered 'yes' and things just… went downhill from there."

I can't help but laugh at that as well. "You know, that is so you to have had this happen because you were literally  _too_ direct with someone."

Dom just shrugs at that. "I mean, something would've happened between us no matter what, I think. Even if we hadn't, you know, fucked, I feel like Rajhi would've eventually hit his breaking point and told me about his feelings one way or another. So really, I just sped things along."

She takes another sip of her drink. " _And_  had a really fantastic shag in the process."

"And you're absolutely positive you don't have any feelings for him?"

She falters. "I - I don't know anymore. I was so sure of it when he told me how he felt about me, but I just… the more I think about it, the more I think that maybe I  _do_ like him like that. I mean, he's changed quite a bit over the past few years, and I just -  _shit_ , it's all such a mess. In a totally different situation, yeah, I might just say fuck it' and tell him I feel the same."

"But in this situation?" I ask.

"I still can't - not if we're both meant to get on the National Team. That has to come first, and Rajhi knows that too," she says, still confident about that at least. "I mean, you of all people know exactly how that feels - what with you and that targeted mass murder case. That has to take priority right now, and I'm sure James gets the importance of that."

I audibly scoff at that.

It doesn't go unnoticed by Dom either, who looks at me curiously.

This was… not a corner I'd intended on getting myself backed into.

"It's nothing major," I lie. "We're just - he's not a fan of how much I'm working because it's just - on top of all the wedding stuff, we just don't have as much time for each other as we used to."

It's intentionally the vaguest and mildest possible explanation of what's going on with James and me right now, because rehashing the specifics of things doesn't really appeal to me right now. This night is supposed to be about  _forgetting_ what's happening at home, not delving into it further.

"Yeah, I suppose that's pretty tough on both of you," Dom replies sympathetically. "It's a lot to happen at once."

"It really is," I reply, before draining the last of my drink. "Refill?"

Dom immediately chugs the rest of her drink as well. "Never did I think I'd meet the day where I'm rushing to keep up with  _you_ ," she says as soon as she's finished, handing me her cup to fill back up.

I'm just as generous - if not more so - with the vodka pours this time, and I weirdly find myself relishing the gradual numbness seeping into my veins with each sip. Because for once,  _I'm_ the one directing that numbness - it's not my brain just randomly shutting down on me like it's been so keen to do recently, but something I'm intentionally causing.

After our third or fourth drink, Dom and I end up going out to a club. Luckily, she's apparently decided she's got no interest in dancing with or even talking to any of the blokes there - which is good, because I really don't know what I'd do if left alone.

I'm at no risk of doing something quite as stupid as cheating on James or anything like that - I'm quite sure there's no amount of alcohol that could ever make me do that - but I also almost fell on my face tripping over a barstool.

The tiniest little bit of logical thought is still clinging on, telling me that I'm staying out too late and would probably be best served asking Dom to take me home, but instead, I grab a random shot off a tray and hand the guy carrying them a sickle, before swallowing the entirety of the fruity concoction in one go and effectively shaking that last little responsible voice from its stronghold.

The music is roaring and I've got nothing in my brain, and for the first time in a while, it feels like everything's going to be alright.

 

* * *

 

I wake up the next morning with no idea where I am.

After a few moments of getting my bearings, I realise that I'm on Dom's couch, still wearing the same clothes from the night before.

And my head is  _pounding_.

I force myself to sit upright, an involuntary whine escaping as I do so.

It's safe to say I am never drinking like this again.

"Good morning, sunshine," Dom says, and I look over to see her in the middle of making breakfast. I've got no idea how she's so chipper, because she drank almost as much as I did. The fact that she's not acting even remotely hungover right now seems massively unfair.

"Sunshine is perhaps not the right word for me right about now," I reply, my voice scratchy.

She laughs loudly, before flipping the bacon that she's started cooking.

The smell of greasy breakfast food hits my nostrils, and my hungover stomach vehemently disagrees with that particular scent.

"I'll be right back," I tell her, before immediately making a beeline for the loo.

It's while I've pretty much got my head in the toilet that I realise the biggest problem with me not making it home last night - I never told James.

I very quickly rinse my mouth out and fix the worst of the black rings of makeup around my eyes before going back into the living area and hoping that I can handle the bacon smell now that there's nothing left  _in_ my stomach for it to disagree with.

"Oh Merlin, James is probably freaking out right about now," I say, trying to figure out where Dom put my shoes.

"It's fine, Abby," Dom replies. "I sent him an owl last night saying you were staying with me when I realised you were in no state to Apparate or Floo anywhere. Your shoes are by the door, by the way."

Honestly, I shouldn't even be surprised that Dom's my saving grace. It's a pretty regular occurrence at this point. "You're a literal angel, you know that?"

She takes a sip of her tea. "I do what I can."

Despite the fact that the worst of my problems have been handled, I still can't fight off the wave of self-loathing that hits me as I come to terms with the fact that I well and truly drank myself into a full-blown blackout last night.

And while it may have felt wonderful at the time to completely forget about real life and consequences, the reality is that I'm in no better of a situation than I was before last night. Nothing's changed except the pounding in my head and the vague sense of unease that comes with literally not being able to remember a portion of the previous night.

I'm supposed to be better than this.

My second revelation of the morning comes all at once - this is the exact behavior I got so angry at James for just a month and a half ago.

I'd been so annoyed with him for being so immature, for using alcohol as a coping mechanism, for forcing someone else to be responsible for making sure he got home in one piece. And here I am, having done the exact same thing.

Merlin, I'm such a  _massive_  hypocrite.

"Do you want food?" Dom asks, continuing to be the mum friend of the two of us.

Objectively, I know I  _should_ have breakfast - it's supposed to make a terrible hangover better, I'm pretty sure - but the idea of eating anything right now makes me want to vomit all over again.

"I'm good," I reply, trying my best to conceal just how hungover I am as I go about locating my shoes and my purse. "I should probably head home anyways - I'll just eat when I get back."

Dom gives me a look suggesting that she knows I'm absolutely lying about that last part. "Whatever works for you," she says. "Thanks for coming and keeping me company last night, by the way."

"I'm not sure I'm all that deserving of gratitude, given that I also made you basically carry me home last night as well," I answer wryly, but Dom waves it off.

"We all have our shitfaced nights every so often - this one just happened to be yours."

And it's never happening again, I comment to myself.

"Well, thank you anyways for making sure I didn't, you know, die or something," I tell her, grabbing a handful of Floo Powder out of the little pail by her fireplace.

She grins at me. "Anytime."

I step into the fireplace, calling out 'Abby Winchester residence' as I throw the ashes down, and I'm quickly engulfed in green flames as I make the trip back home.

When I'm back on my feet and standing in my own living room - and notably dizzier than I was just a few moments ago - I immediately prioritise going right back to bed. Sleeping this off seems like the only plausible solution right now.

I pour myself a glass of water and head up to the bedroom, where James is, predictably, still asleep. It is kind of early for a Saturday, after all.

Once I've changed out of last night's clothes and into an old Appleby shirt of James', I climb into bed, doing my best not to wake James.

I don't know why I'm being so cautious about it - he already knows where I was last night, although I'm truthfully not sure just  _how much_ Dom told him. It's not like I'm actually sneaking in or anything.

I'm asleep almost as soon as my head hits the pillow, and I don't stir again until James wakes up.

"Abby?" he says, obviously a bit confused by my sudden reappearance in our bed. I probably shouldn't purposefully ignore him again, so I roll over to face him.

My mouth has gone entirely dry in the past however-long I've been sleeping for, and my response comes out akin to a croak. "Yes?"

"I just - I didn't know you'd gotten home, is all."

"It was just a little bit ago," I tell him, unsure if that's going to make things better or worse.

"Well yeah, I mean, I figured as much," he replies. "You weren't here when I first woke up at like six. Why'd you stay at Dom's anyways?"

So Dom didn't actually tell him.

"We were out really late," I answer, giving only a partial truth. I don't need to point out my own hypocrisy and give him yet another reason to be mad at me. "And I just… wasn't feeling up to Apparating. Or up to much of anything, really."

James hums - that answer's apparently good enough for him, because he doesn't ask any more questions. I truthfully can't ever tell where we're at these days - we're constantly stuck somewhere along the spectrum of tolerating each other, not being able to even be in the same room, shouting about Godric knows what, and shagging on the nearest available surface.

It's not healthy, to say the least. But on mornings like this, we seem to be relatively okay.

I know we can't go on like this forever, but I'm still hopeful - and maybe naively so - that we'll wake up one day and somehow things will magically have worked out between us. Or at the very least, we'll have some sort of roadmap towards getting to that point.

"Do you want anything to eat?" he asks.

"No," I reply, because I'm still just as repulsed by the idea of breakfast as I was at Dom's a few hours ago. "I just want - "

He cocks his head. "You just want what?"

I don't know what makes me say it - honestly, maybe I'm still a little drunk, and maybe I still feel bad about my own hypocritical behaviour - but my immediate response is, "You."

That makes him pause. "I… okay."

And this is definitely one of the few moments where we're back on the same wavelength, because he climbs back under the covers again, moving closer to me and looping an arm around my middle.

I scoot closer to him until we're properly cuddling, letting my hand come up and wrap around his, and in that moment, everything feels right in the world.

I know it's not built to last, but a temporary peace is better than none at all.

"I love you," I murmur, and I barely hear his response as I drift back to sleep yet again.

 

* * *

 

James wakes me up in the mid-afternoon, having snuck out of his position next to me a few hours earlier.

"I'm sorry to wake you," he says, his hand still resting on my shoulder, "but we've got that cake tasting thing in an hour. If you're not feeling up to it, I can owl them and cancel, but I just - "

"I'll be fine, James," I say, even though it's a bit of a lie. I don't actually feel fully back to normal, but having to back out of something we've had scheduled for weeks because of something as stupid as a hangover that's lasted well into the afternoon. "We don't need to cancel or anything."

"Okay," he replies, stroking his thumb across the fabric of my shirt. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

It hits me that he doesn't actually realise why I've felt so ill this morning - he thinks I'm actually sick, rather than hungover, which is why he's being so sympathetic.

If he knew the truth, I guarantee he'd be a lot less caring and a lot more pissed off.

Because of that, I decide it's probably best to let him continue to believe the alternative. Not fighting is nice.

I sit up slowly, taking stock of how I feel; the pounding in my head has mostly resided, and I actually feel like I could stomach food now.

Which is probably good, considering I'm meant to be sampling cakes today.

Although really, I'm leaving most of the decision-making on this particular wedding aspect to James - he cares much more about the actual cake than I do. I just want it to look pretty.

I get ready, putting the absolute minimum amount of effort in. That still involves a face of makeup and a nice outfit, but it's a lower bar than normal for me.

The baker who put together our samples is a remarkably cheerful woman, and she's more than thrilled to go through all the flavors and magical enhancements in detail. I'm quick to shoot down any proposals for moving parts or anything that 'explodes,' but other than that, I let James take the lead.

It's weirdly nice,  _not_ panicking about the details of this part. Everything else has largely fallen in my court for decision-making - mostly because James knows I care more about things like table runners than he does - but this is solely James' area of expertise.

He eventually settles on a cake that's either white chocolate raspberry or chocolate peanut butter depending on what you want it to taste like, and asks for my thoughts on the decorative sugar flowers that constantly look like they're in bloom.

As always, he's got a surprisingly accurate pulse on my aesthetic preferences.

It ends up being an entirely productive trip, and it's gotten James in weirdly high spirits, so he's quick to lace his fingers in mine as soon as we leave the shop, excitedly chattering about desserts and Merlin knows what else.

I think he's on a bit of a sugar high, but I don't want him to ever come down. Everything between us today has been strangely perfect - an unexpected change of pace that's slightly founded on a bit of a white lie - and I find that I really want it to stay like this for as long as it can.

Maybe this is us finding our way back.

 

* * *

 

Somehow, my work schedule is slightly less hectic this week. I'm honestly tempted to give the credit to Aaliyah's major breakthrough last week, but for some reason, the senior Aurors are slightly less inclined to pass on mountains of work to the younger staff.

It's a welcome change, even if I don't know how long it'll actually stay like this.

My life seems to be composed of a myriad of temporary solutions at the moment, so it seems.

I even go home on time most days; the only day I end up staying late is Thursday, and I send James a note about it through an interdepartmental memo.

And I'm not the only one lingering later than usual - Al is stuck here as well, working through some massive report that has somehow managed to spread out across his desk and a good bit of the floor around him as well.

Eventually, it all gets to be too much for him. "Fucking hell, if I have to read one more page of this, I'm going to gouge my own eyes out."

I laugh under my breath - because Merlin, if that isn't a relatable feeling. "Please don't - we're already understaffed as it is. We don't need you going anywhere too."

For some reason, Al goes strangely silent at that.

After a few moments, he speaks again, much softer than before. "Can I tell you something?"

I'm not quite sure what brought this on, but I roll with it. "Yeah, of course."

He rolls his chair over to my desk, and I briefly worry that he's about to tell me he wants to quit the Auror office or something like that. "Cecile and I are trying to have a baby."

"That's great!" I say automatically, before it even properly hits me how terrifying it is that people younger than me are old enough to be intentionally trying to have children.

And Godric, does  _that_ idea stress me out - largely because I know for a fact that  _I_  absolutely couldn't take care of a child at this point in my life.

But Al and Cecile are... different, in an indescribable sort of way. The idea of  _them_ having kids right now doesn't scare me half as much as the idea of  _James and I_ having kids right now.

"I know that we're both young - I mean, we're barely twenty, really," he rambles, "but people have had kids at younger than this and it's both of our dreams to have a big family with a bunch of kids, so it's just like… why not now? If this is something we both want and we're both ready for, why wait?"

I just nod, wondering if there's a point to this or if he's just using me as an outlet to process this information himself.

"It's just… I don't know. I'm scared." He runs his fingers through his hair nervously in a way that reminds me of James. "Not of, you know, having kids, but more of just… I mean, you were there for what happened my sixth year."

I still remember that night vividly; I remember finding Al sobbing in a corridor and watching as he struggled through explaining everything that had happened to James, and I remember my heart breaking in response.

"I - I'm terrified that it'll happen again. And it was… so,  _so_ hard the first time, and I didn't even  _want_ a baby at that point, so I just… I don't even know what I'd do if it happened now."

I bite my lip - I'm not entirely sure what the best thing to say in this situation is. I was out of my depth on seventh year, and I'm out of my depth now.

"I think..." I start, taking my time to figure out how to phrase it best, "that all of the best things in life involve something scary. That's what makes it so incredible, really, and this - having a baby - is no exception."

He nods. "I know that. I mean, when Cecile first said she wanted to start trying, I immediately said not yet, because I was fucking terrified. But I gradually realised what you were saying - that pretty much everything worth pursuing involves a little bit of fear - and that's… that's when I changed my mind."

He ruffles up his hair again. "When you and Aaliyah were asking me what I got Cecile for Valentine's Day and I didn't want to tell you both, that was… that was it. I told her I wanted us to start trying."

I try not to start reflecting on that day too much - this conversation is meant to be about Al, not me, and I don't need to be thinking about my own issues right now.

"I thought it'd get less scary when I accepted it," he adds. "But losing another baby is still just my biggest fucking fear."

"I don't - this is obviously not my area of expertise," I say, "but I think the fact that you're still so scared for your future kid's life is a good thing. It shows you're taking this thing seriously, you know?"

He laughs a little at that. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

There's a beat of silence, and then he adds, "Thanks for listening to me start rambling about my life out of absolutely fucking nowhere. I just… apparently handle work stress by obsessing over non-work stress?"

I have to suppress a laugh, because Merlin, do I know exactly what that's like.

I open my mouth to respond to him, but I'm not given a chance to. Instead, there's a sudden flurry of activity as a number of Aurors who had already left the office for the day make a sudden reappearance.

One of them is Markus, who almost immediately comes over to my desk.

"You're going to want to see this," he says solemnly.

I turn away from Al to look at him quizzically. "It's related to the mass murder case, supposedly," he adds.

That's enough to get me out of my seat - I quickly apologise for leaving Al mid-conversation, before turning back to Markus. "How did you know about it? And… what is 'it,' anyways?"

He sets off down the hall, and I have to walk quickly to keep up with his long strides. "Kitchens sent out a Patronus to all of us on the case - I'm assuming you didn't get one because you hadn't left the office yet."

Or because Kitchens has some weird grudge against me, but I don't vocalise that.

"And 'it' is… well, I don't know all the details yet, but someone else has died, and all the signs point to it being activity by this same group."

It's honestly a bit absurd that, after this long, we still have barely any intel on who's been perpetrating all of these deaths other than that they've got to be working in a pack. You'd think knowing a narrower field of suspects would help, but any interrogation attempts recently have only led to dead ends.

"So we're going to - "

I don't get to finish my sentence, clarifying  _what_ exactly it is we're meant to be seeing, because instead, we've entered the emergency care area of the Auror office and I get my answer.

Lying on the examination table in front of me is a dead body - horrifically scarred, with a leg bent at the wrong angle, and eyes still wide open, bloodshot and terrified.

My train of thought comes to a stuttering halt, and it's only through a fantastically strong repression of my natural emotional reaction to the scene in front of me that I don't pass out right then and there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 18…
> 
> "Are you okay?" he asks, clearly not thinking it to be as childish as I do. "Was it related to the work thing?"
> 
> When I'd come home tonight, far later than I'd expected to and presumably visibly shaken, James could instantly tell that something was wrong. He didn't even get mad that I was late, which I'm sure he would've in literally any other situation.
> 
> It's just… I've seen photos of corpses while looking through evidence, and neatly killed dead bodies that could practically be sleeping if you didn't know the reality of the situation, but tonight… tonight was something else entirely, and clearly I still haven't fully recovered from it.


	18. Complexity #18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once the downward spiral starts, it's impossible to fight gravity.

_There's a dead body in front of me again, but this time, it's not some random, mutilated figure. That was a horror all its own, but this feels like something entirely different and the body looks remarkably familiar. And instead of fully shutting down like I did when faced with the body at the Ministry - and like I've done so often with so many things lately - my senses are heightened._

_I try take stock of the scene around me - but something's off. There's people moving all around me, but no one seems to notice the person lying on the floor. It looks like a wedding of some sort; there's a cake nearby, not entirely unlike the one James and I picked out a few days ago._

_Was it a few days ago? I don't know._

_There's a knife next to the body, but there's no blood anywhere. I take a step forward, desperate to know more despite the rising sense of terror in my chest, and suddenly… I know exactly who the lifeless form in front of me is._

_It's James._

_A noise rips out of my lungs that I didn't even know I was capable of making, and it's practically an out-of-body experience as I feel myself shattering, a million pieces of my heart spread out into the wind because this can't be happening, this can't be real, this can't -_

I wake with a start.

My breaths come in quick succession, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest. It takes a moment to figure out my bearings, to recognise that I'm in my own bedroom, and that James is just an arm's distance away, perfectly okay.

It was all a dream.

But even so, I need confirmation that he's alright, some reassurance that his heart is still beating and that there's no way that any part of that nightmare was reality.

I reach over and place my hand on his arm, trying not to wake him up in the process, but he's apparently only sleeping lightly because he stirs at the contact anyways.

"Abby?" he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. "Is everything alright?"

"I - yeah, it's fine," I say, although my voice cracks in the middle and I realise for the first time since I woke up that I'm crying. "I just… had a bad dream, is all."

It sounds incredibly juvenile out loud, but even so, that doesn't change how real it all felt, even if for just those few moments.

"Are you okay?" he asks, clearly not thinking it to be as childish as I do. "Was it related to the work thing?"

When I'd come home tonight, far later than I'd expected to and presumably looking about as shaken as I'd felt, James could instantly tell that something was wrong. He didn't even get mad that I was late, which I'm sure he would've in literally any other situation.

It's just… I've seen photos of corpses while looking through evidence, and neatly killed dead bodies that could practically be sleeping if you didn't know the reality of the situation, but tonight… tonight was something else entirely, and clearly I still haven't fully recovered from it.

Thisis why I'm on the investigative side, so that for the most part, I  _don't_ have to deal with things like this.

"Yeah, it was," I answer softly. "And I just… I needed to know that you were okay."

"I'm okay," he confirms, finding my hand under the covers and giving it a squeeze. "I'm not going anywhere."

And even though we've been talking and therefore it's definitely already been confirmed that he is, in fact, alive, hearing him say the words 'I'm okay' out loud is somehow the magic piece I needed to finally relax again.

I move closer to him, resting my head on his chest and linking one of my legs around one of his. I'm going to regret this in a couple of hours - James is quite literally a human furnace when he sleeps and any attempts at cuddling through the night always end with me drenched in sweat - but right now, it feels entirely worth it to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against my own skin.

For more reasons than just that dream, his promise that he's not going anywhere is exactly what I need to hear right now.

 

* * *

 

The Auror office being calm quickly becomes a thing of the past; with this new murder being as violent as it was - and the body being found in a  _very_ public place where a number of Muggles had to be Obliviated as a result - the investigation into the case doubles down tenfold.

Not to mention that there's a whole issue of the victim still remaining unidentified.

I surprise even myself with my level of insistence on that issue - the other people on the team probably think it's because I was the one who discovered the OWL score link initially and want an identification on this victim as well to prove the trend - but it's actually not that, at least not entirely.

I just… I don't feel like we can do an investigation properly if we don't even know who the target was.

"There's already an absurd amount of information we don't know about this case," I argue, in the middle of a staff meeting later that week. "We've got  _zero_ reliable leads on perpetrators, despite the fact that this case has been ongoing since December. If we've got a shot at identifying the body, why  _wouldn't_ we take it?"

"And what exactly do you propose that shot  _is_?" Randall replies. The two of us are both standing, and normally I'd probably feel a bit more intimidated arguing with someone who's very clearly my senior, but oddly enough, I don't feel that way right now. "He didn't have a wand on him, Mungo's hasn't come up with anything, no one's come forward saying their loved one has disappeared. What exactly are our options at this point?"

"We haven't tried a coroner," I answer.

"A  _what_?"

"It's a Muggle sort of doctor that specialises in dead bodies, from what I can tell," I tell him. I'd come across a few papers citing forensic pathologists and coroners before while on my Killing Curse research, but hadn't really had anything useful to do with that knowledge. Until now, that is. "And if whoever this is was Muggleborn, it's pretty damn likely that there's a record of him in their system somewhere, even if it  _was_ years ago."

"That's a direct violation of the Statute of Secrecy, you know," Hyslop interrupts. "We can't just… go to a  _Muggle_ doctor."

That's a weak excuse if I've ever heard one. "It's not like we'd need to  _tell_ them anything about the magical side of things. We all go to Muggle shops and restaurants all the time without telling everyone  _there_ that we're magical, I don't see how this has to be any different. But they've got technology that we don't that may be of use here."

"And how do you know what technology they've got?" Randall asks, although he doesn't seem quite as resistant to the idea as he was initially.

Truthfully, I'd first thought to look at Muggle forensics a few months ago because of a book I'd been reading - it was half love story, half murder mystery, and the way that the main character talked about assessing evidence absolutely blew my mind - and it turns out that's  _actually_ a real thing Muggles are able to do.

For a society that we're often apt to look down upon for not having inherent magic, they sure are massively ahead of us in just about every other way.

But admitting that I'd originally gotten the idea from a work of fiction is bound to get my idea complete brushed off, so I skip ahead a few steps. "While I was researching potential methods of identifying the caster of a Killing curse, I came across a few articles referencing Muggle coroners for some reason or another, so I started reading some purely Muggle articles as well. There's a good bit of potential there."

"It's the best proposition we've got at this point," Markus chimes in. I  _hate_ that I'm so reliant on him to defend literally everything I say, but I'm grateful for it nonetheless.

Randall sighs, and it seems I might have actually won this one. "We can explore the option," he relents. "By that, I mean  _you_ can explore it, and once you've got a comprehensive plan for how we can orchestrate all of this  _without_ breaking international law, we can review and go forward with it."

"I'll have it on your desk tomorrow, sir," I answer, unable to keep the smug grin entirely off my face as I sit back down.

Admittedly, promising a full report by tomorrow morning is going to be a bit of a push, but I can rearrange some other things on my to-do list to get this knocked out.

I spend the rest of the meeting working out a bit of an outline in the margin of my notes, figuring out the full expanse of details that need to be addressed. I'm sure Randall and a few of the other senior Aurors would love to poke a hole in my proposition and use that as an excuse to tank the whole thing, so I've got to make sure it's airtight.

Although  _why_ they'd want to sink something that really does seem like one of our only viable options - even if it is unorthodox and came from me - is truly beyond me.

But true to my word, I spend the rest of the day working on that report. It's not hard, truthfully, to come up with a litany of explanations for how we can explain the situation without seeming suspect, how we can justify the fact that the body's been magically preserved for three days, and how we can back out of the situation if things take a bad turn.

The one snag comes in the transport piece. It's not exactly easy to just… move a dead body somewhere, especially not when you're trying to be discreet.

As I write, I alternate between coffee and tea, and I'm incredibly jittery from the combination by the time I'm wrapping up the report. It's well after the end of the workday, and the office is essentially abandoned.

I sign my name at the bottom of the report, before sliding it under the door to Randall's office. And then I tuck a duplicate in my bag - I'm surprisingly paranoid that it's going to get 'lost' somehow. Not necessarily by Randall, who, for all his arguments, seems at least somewhat interested in the idea, but… I don't know. I feel like I can't actually tell who I can trust in the office anymore, other than maybe Aaliyah, Al, and Markus.

I flick my wand at the lantern over my desk, and the office descends into darkness.

By the time I get home, I've stopped shaking from the excess caffeine in my system, but I still feel like I should probably eat something to hopefully counteract this a little bit. I probably won't sleep well tonight regardless, but food might help some.

When I come through the fireplace and into the living room, James is on the couch, listening to a Quidditch match being broadcast over the wireless. I can't quite catch the teams, but I'm pretty sure Wimbourne is one of them.

"Hi, love," I say as greeting. "Do we have anything quick I can heat up for dinner?"

"I already ate, but there's leftovers in the fridge," he replies. And then, a bit coldly, "You're doing it again, you know."

I look at him quizzically. "What?"

He responds to my questioning look with a rather condescending one. "Have you  _looked_ at a clock recently?"

"Well, yes, but I owled you. I told you I'd be working late."

I'd made a very specific point of it - as I'd done a few other times this week. I figured he'd understand, the same way he did with the situation on Monday.

Apparently I was wrong.

He scoffs. "The owl isn't the fucking point, Abby. Do you know that my  _dad_ asked me if our relationship was okay? He apparently keeps seeing you in the office way past when pretty much everyone else has left - so it's not like you working an extra three hours at the end of each day is just a  _normal_ part of the job."

So Harry didn't just talk to me then. I suppose though, given how I'd pushed him away, I don't entirely blame him for asking James too.

"You're not completely wrong," I relent. "I was using the office as a way to avoid things for a while. But I'm not anymore."

"Then what was tonight?"

I sigh. "Tonight was me trying to organize the department getting in touch with a Muggle coroner because apparently magic can't even identify this latest victim."

"And that couldn't have waited until tomorrow? Given that, you know, the entire rest of your department had already gone home and you're clearly just working yourself into a hole for the hell of it?"

I heave a frustrated sigh. "No, it couldn't, because I'd promised my boss I'd have the report to him by tomorrow morning."

"Once again, that seems like  _you_ putting undue work on yourself."

"You know what?" I snap, suddenly out of patience. "I'm not having this argument again with you, I'm  _not_. It's not my fault that I have to work twice as hard as all the men in the Auror department to get even half of the recognition."

At that, James' expression melts into confusion. "You… what?"

Once the floodgate's open, I can't stop. "The Auror department is an honest-to-god nightmare sometimes - almost everyone in that office has found  _some_ reason to look down on me, whether it's because I'm a woman and they're all a bunch of sexist pricks, or because I'm younger than all of them, or heaven forbid, because I'm marrying the son of the Department Head and I've  _obviously_ just used you and your family to get a job because I could  _never_ have managed that on my own. And it's gotten a million times worse ever since I got assigned to this case."

"I - "

"So yeah, I'm working myself into the ground," I continue, not giving him a chance to finish that thought. "You're right. It's  _exhausting_ , and if I could show up to work and put in less effort than this and somehow  _not_ also lose credibility - and mind you, I can barely get anyone to listen to my ideas  _now_ , the only reason they do is because Markus or another senior Auror decides to come to my defense - then believe me, I'd do it. I don't  _like_ the fact that I'm overworked and stressed and busy all the time, but apparently it's the only way I'm going to get  _anywhere_  in this career path."

By the time I reach the end of my rant, I'm breathing heavily, my chest rising and falling at the same rapid pace as my heartbeat. James, on the other hand, looks like he's been Stupefied.

"How come you never told me?" he eventually asks, his almost-whisper a stark contrast to my yelling.

And suddenly, I just want to scream. Or hell, maybe go find the same spot in the wall that James punched and repaired a few weeks ago and slam my own fist through the drywall. I tell him about how horrific things have been for me lately, and his immediate response is to think of himself, and how  _he_ didn't know about it?

Un-fucking-believable.

"Are you kidding me right now?" I say aloud. "Is that  _really_ how you're going to respond to all of this? By making it about you?"

"I'm not making it about me," he replies, annoyed. "I just don't know why this is the first time I'm hearing about this. I could've, I don't know, maybe done something about it?"

"That is, quite literally, the fundamental definition of making it about you," I snap back. "But fine, you want to know why I didn't talk to you about it? Because of exactly what you just said. Because I  _know_ you, James, and you love being able to indulge your hero complex and swoop in and save the day. And that's well and grand for you, but do you know what would happen if you tried to intervene? If you went to your dad and raised my issues that way, and he suddenly showed up to work and knew about all the things that happen to me behind his back?"

His silence is a sufficient answer. He hasn't even considered that part.

"The senior Aurors would know  _exactly_ where it had come from and would lose even more respect for me, because I'd be perfectly living up to their expectations - that I can't fucking function on my own, or I'm only there because of who I'm dating and I need my fiancé to come in and save me because I can't fight my own battles, or that I want to take the easy way out by going straight to the boss. It'll turn the whole place into even more of a nightmare than it is now."

James blinks at me a few times and runs his hands through his hair. "Do you really think I have so little fucking respect for you and your boundaries that I'd just go off to my dad if you'd told me not to?" he answers defensively. "Because you  _clearly_ don't know me well enough if you think that's the case - yeah, I'd  _love_ to help make your workplace less of a fucking hellscape if I could, because you clearly love the work even if the people are trash and I'd go to the goddamn ends of the earth to make you happy if I could, but if you'd told me not to do anything about it, why the  _fuck_  would you think I wouldn't listen to you?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you'd done something for the sake of nobility without thinking about how it would affect me," I reply coldly.

"You're really about to fucking bring seventh year into this?" He throws his hands up exasperatedly. "Yeah, I fucked up a good  _three goddamn years ago_. That's  _hardly_ representative of what I'm like now - no matter how much you like to say otherwise."

He takes a step towards me. "But you  _want_  to bring seventh year into this again? Fine. In case you forgot, we also made a promise to each other that year, something right along the lines of 'no more secrets.' And you know what? This seems like a pretty big fucking secret to have kept from me for so long."

My blood runs cold, because he's definitely just called me out and he's not entirely wrong about it either. I'd kept it from him for good reason - to protect myself and my career - and I stand by that decision, but I… I maybe deserve to be challenged for this.

"I just want to know," he continues, clearly on a roll now, "what the  _fuck_ our relationship has become if you can't even tell me what's going on at your job and the  _real_ reason you've been working so many extra hours? Do you suddenly just not trust me anymore? Is that it?"

"I do trust you," I insist, almost automatically.

" _Then fucking act like it!_ "

There's half a beat of silence in the air in the aftermath of James' shouting, and I think both of us know what's going to happen before it does.

Merlin knows we've been here all too many times before.

We're too scared to let this reach a fever pitch, to see what happens if we let an argument like this reach its natural conclusion. And so James' arm snakes around my waist as his lips crash into mine, and there's instantly not a breath of air between us.

And this is probably shattering whatever delicate rebuilding we'd started, and us reliving this endless cycle of turning to sex whenever things get too headed is incredibly toxic - but if this is what poison tastes like, it's an unexpectedly sweet demise.

James' hands slip under my dress, his fingers gently running along the outside of my knickers repeatedly until I'm leaning into his touch and in desperate need of more. Part of this feels like James is inducing a competition - because if no one can win an argument, at least someone can win in sex - but I don't mind putting my stubborn need to win aside for the sake of this.

I suppose, also, that winning depends on the definition of the term, and I personally would call an orgasm a win, even if it does mean a little bit of begging in the interim.

"James,  _please,_ " I say, somewhat pathetically, when his lips leave my own.

"Yes?"

It's remarkably difficult to be coherent right now. "I just - do  _something_."

He looks somewhat smug at that, but my anger at him feels like it's been relegated an entirely different part of my brain right now, so when he pulls my knickers off in one clean motion and drags me with him to the couch, I'm all too happy to do whatever he wants.

It's a win for me anyways, because as soon as I've got one knee on either side of him, he's touching me again and I'm unconsciously making noises that sound remarkably similar to whimpers because he knows  _exactly_ what to do to me, and it's just…

I'm wound up so tightly that it doesn't take much longer until I'm burying my head in James' shoulder to stifle a scream.

Both of us are still fully clothed, so as I come down from that first high, I pull my dress over my head and do the same with James' shirt. He lifts his hips up for just long enough for me to pull his joggers and boxers down to his knees, but he doesn't even bother kicking them the rest of the way off.

Instead, he brings my hips back to hover over his own. He's clearly not in a mood for patience right now, despite his earlier efforts, so I make quick work of sinking down onto him and establishing a rhythm.

He lavishes kisses and bites across my chest as we move together, sucking what's sure to be a bit of a love bite on my collarbone as I fist my hands in his hair, but it doesn't escape me that he never once looks me in the eye, even though we're face-to-face.

For something so intimate, it feels oddly impersonal.

But the emotional side of things is on a totally different plane from the physical, and right now, the latter is occupying far more of my attention. I can tell James is getting close, and one of his hands slides between my legs again, tracing insistent circles against me as we build to a different kind of fever pitch.

And unlike our arguments, this is one area where neither of us are afraid to let things hit their natural conclusion; I cry out James' name and drag my nails down his sides when I come, and he swears loudly and follows suit just a few moments later.

As it always does, reality sinks in the moment the post-sex haze fades away. Whatever wonderful things James may be able to do to my body, it doesn't change the fact that he's absolutely wrecking my mind.

I lazily run my hands through his hair as he presses a last few kisses to my neck, but when he's done, I'm quick to get off of him and gather my clothes up off the floor. Except for my bra, of course, which is still on, because we were apparently so desperate to replace our fighting with lovemaking that neither of us even bother to properly undress first.

Although lovemaking is probably a bit too generous a word for what we just did -  _that_ word comes with a connotation that there was a lot of affection and care involved, rather than what actually happened, which was using sex as an easy outlet to channel our frustrations with each other.

I'm sure I have at least one mark from him tattooed on my skin as evidence of that.

The rest of the night doesn't go much better. James and I don't fight anymore, and as unhealthy as it might be, sex  _is_ a really effective way to put our tensions on hold for at least twelve hours or so. But even then, I find that I've entirely lost any sort of appetite I might have had, and the complete lack of food, combined with the excess caffeine in my system and the mess of hormones in my blood, means that I'm shaky at best for the rest of the evening and, when I get into bed, I find that I couldn't even sleep if I tried.

So instead, I've got James, sleeping (or maybe not, with how often he's changing positions) in the space next to me as I stare aimlessly at the ceiling, replaying our fight - and so many others before - again and again in my mind.

And it's a special kind of torture that the person I want to talk through all of this with the most is the very same person who's causing the pain in the first place.

 

* * *

 

"Champagne?"

A golden platter covered in flutes of bubbly is held out to me, and I instinctively grab a glass. Caroline, Dom, Lily, Molly, and Amelie all quickly follow suit.

The entirety of Bellchant's Bridal has an elegant air to it - from the ivory couches to the lace centerpieces set on every side table. And the walls themselves are lined with dresses - most of them in shades of white, with a narrow section of colour.

"Miss Winchester, an absolute pleasure," a dark-haired man in a suit says, walking towards me with an excited grin on his face. "Please don't hesitate to flag myself or any of the other associates down when you're ready to try on any of the dress styles. And, of course, help yourself to as much champagne as you'd like."

I do my best to return his excitement, but I'm not sure my smile quite reaches my eyes. It's a bit hard to be thrilled about finding a wedding dress when you've just been through a whole week and a half of particularly nasty fights with the groom.

But we've come in here with a plan, and that plan involves finding the bridesmaids' dresses first, so I let the five girls start the search for their own dresses. One of the biggest perks of buying from a magical bridal shop is that dress colour can be changed in store, so it's really just a matter of letting them all pick out what styles they want.

And it's kind of relaxing, just sitting there with a drink and weighing in as they pick out dresses, even though I know I'm about to be faced with that decision times twenty in just a short while.

I've always enjoyed that there's something about an aesthetically pleasing shop that makes the rest of my worries fade away. In here, I don't have to dwell on the fact that James and I haven't spoken properly in a week, that any careful peace we establish is doomed for failure, that I've got  _no_ idea how we're meant to fix things.

That he doesn't think I trust him anymore.

And that maybe he doesn't completely trust me anymore either.

"Yes or no?" Lily steps out of the dressing room in a dress with low V in the front, revealing that she's added star tattoos in the hollow between her breasts.

I'd intentionally picked the first weekend of Easter holidays as the date for this dress shopping appointment, purely so that she'd be able to be here as well.

"Up to you as to whether or not you want to watch your family flip their shit the moment they see you," I answer, with a snicker.

"As fun as that would be," she grins wickedly, "I think we'll probably have more than enough family drama going on at this wedding, if previous ones are anything to go by. Although, I suppose, they'll all probably know the truth by then anyways."

Despite my best advice, Lily  _still_ hasn't told anyone in her immediate family about her post-graduation plans. I think a good number of them know about the flower tattoos on her shoulders now, but the fact that she wants to turn them into a full-time career is a piece of information that only Cecile and I are privy to.

She shrugs. "Still, I'll probably go for something a little less… dramatic."

"Probably a good choice," I agree.

Finding bridesmaids' dresses actually ends up a rather painless affair, all things considered. Dom rather predictably makes a joke about wanting to add glitter to hers, Caroline naturally looks like a goddess in nearly everything she tries on, and Amelie goes with the very first thing she grabs.

Once all of those orders have been placed, all the attention turns to me. And it's oddly perfect timing that the girls finished when they did, because Diana walks in the front door of the shop only a few seconds after Molly's paid for her dress.

In truth, I'm honestly so much happier she's here for this instead of my mother.

She gives me a hug, and immediately starts talking about how excited she is. And even if it  _is_ a bit over-the-top, her enthusiasm is actually kind of contagious, and I feel fully excited about finding my wedding dress for the first time all morning.

"Any particular style you're looking for?" she asks me.

"Just… no massive tulle skirt, that's all I know," I reply. Wanting a dress that's fitted all the way down is just about the only detail I've got set in stone - I'd meant to do some more browsing of bridal magazines before dress shopping, but that plan ended up derailed by my absolute apathy towards wedding things over the past few days.

"I'll keep that in mind," she answers, moving to one of the racks and flipping through dresses. I start to do the same, looking for anything that catches my eye.

It quickly becomes abundantly clear to me why I should've done more research before coming here, because I've got absolutely no idea what I want. There are some things I rule out automatically - strapless dresses and satin and mermaid fits - but the rest of it is still a bit of a toss-up.

They're all  _gorgeous_ , and I really don't know how I'm meant to pick which ones to try on, much less narrow it down to just one to actually buy.

Somehow, I end up with ten dresses to try on anyways - a mixture of choices from me, Diana, and the other bridesmaids (but mostly Caroline).

Once I'm alone in the dressing room, surrounded by white dresses, the sense of dread sneaks up again. I'd been enjoying myself, to an extent, flipping through the racks with the girls, but it's harder to feel so content on my own.

But I kick any sort of emotion back under the proverbial rug, and put on the first dress. It's pretty, that's for sure, but I don't know what else to think about it. There's not a mirror in here though, so I guess I won't know for sure until I see my reflection.

Predictably, there's a little bit of squealing when I walk out, but I'm not blown away by it when I look in the mirror. I'm not sure what it's supposed to feel like when you've found  _the_ dress, but I at least expect to feel something a little more than this.

Eventually, the consensus is the same - despite the initial excitement, we're all kind of in agreement that, while this dress is lovely, I could definitely find something better.

The process repeats over and over, ranging from dresses that look awful on me to ones that are… almost there.

Dress number eight feels different though.

The back is lined with an endless row of tiny buttons, so I have to use magic to get them all done up. The sample size quickly works its magic, adjusting to fit me perfectly.

When I walk out, Diana gasps, and that's when I know my hunch was right.

"Oh Merlin, it's perfect," Molly says, putting her hand over her heart.

But instead of filling me with joy, their comments seem to ignite all the feelings I'd been trying so hard to push down.

Sure enough, I look up at my reflection, and I know instantly - this is  _the_  dress. Everything about it is perfect, from the delicate, lacy bodice, to the low back, to the flowing train of silky white fabric. It's the first and only dress I've tried on that makes me really feel like I'm going to be a bride.

And that moment of clarity is probably what pushes me over the edge. The sharp contrast between this - the moment that's supposed to be one of the happiest of my entire life - and the fact that my reality is something so totally different.

I'm buying a dress for a wedding that, for all I know, may not actually happen. Because while James and I haven't once talked about calling off the engagement or breaking up altogether, it feels like that's the breaking point we're teetering upon.

And it's only a matter of time.

So in a room full of people, I watch as the girl in the mirror in front of me breaks down in tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your regular reminder that i have in fact promised a happy ending to this fic.
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 19…
> 
> The reaction is almost instantaneous. Within seconds, I'm surrounded by people trying to console me or figure out what's wrong or show some sort of sympathy.
> 
> And I hate it. I hate crying anyways, and that feeling increases exponentially when there are people around to witness it.
> 
> James is basically the only one who's ever witnessed me break down before, and that's been fine, because he's... well, he's him. And much to my dismay, that thought only makes the tears come faster.


	19. Complexity #19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions can't be made based on their external factors.

The reaction is almost instantaneous. Within seconds, I'm surrounded by people trying to console me or figure out what's wrong or show some sort of sympathy.

And I  _hate_  it. I hate crying anyways, and that feeling increases exponentially when there are people around to witness it.

James is basically the only one who's ever witnessed me break down before, but that's been okay, because he's... well, because he's him.

And much to my dismay, that thought only makes the tears come faster.

I'm not even fully aware of my surroundings anymore - I've brought my hands up to cover my face and when there's a hand on my elbow, gently pulling me down off the platform and taking me somewhere, I don't even look up to figure out who it is.

There's the sound of a curtain closing, and I finally look up again. I'm back in a dressing room - although not the one I'd been in before, as there aren't any wedding dresses in this one - and Dom and Lily are both watching me, concern clearly etched across their faces.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dom asks, at the same time as Lily goes for a far more direct, "Spill."

And as much as I've been avoiding talking to anyone about James and I's problems, I know that I've got no choice but to tell the truth now. Neither of them will believe me if I give them a watered-down version; they both know me far too well. Anything less than this wouldn't have caused me to break down crying in a room full of people.

"I - " I start, interrupted by a hiccup, "James and I are fighting. Like, really,  _really_  fighting."

Neither of them answer me - and I don't blame them, I don't know how I'd respond to being told that either - so I just continue on with slightly incoherent rambling, interrupted by the occasion gasp as I try to force myself to stop crying quite so hard. "It started off with these just - these really minor things, like me working late or him getting too drunk one night, but there's... something - deeper to it now. We're barely talking anymore, which is just… so opposite to everything we've ever been. All we do is argue about stupid, insignificant things, and then when things get too intense, it just morphs into angry sex and we just stop talking about whatever caused the argument in the first place without addressing it, and the whole cycle repeats itself and I don't know how to make it  _stop_."

There's another long silence, and I wipe a few fresh mascara-soaked tears off my face.

Lily speaks first. "Is it at least  _good_  angry sex?"

"Lily!" Dom looks over at her cousin, scandalised.

On the other hand, I'm kind of okay with that being her first response. It's broken the tension a little, and it's infinitely better than pity, at the very least.

Lily shrugs. "What? I mean, angry sex can be best-I-ever-had type stuff, or it can just be some bloke jackhammering into you for a couple minutes. The distinction is important."

"But like, not relevant right now," Dom shoots back.

Lily opens her mouth to say something - presumably refuting Dom's comment - but I speak first.

"It's the first one," I answer quietly, but both Lily and Dom hear it. "And that's… that's almost part of the problem. I mean, what does it say about us if the sex is the only part of our relationship that's any good anymore?"

Neither of them know what to say to that either - it seems stunning people into silence has become a skill of mine today.

"And putting on this dress, and staring in the mirror and knowing that  _this_ is the dress I want to get married in… it just made me realise that there's a chance this wedding doesn't even happen at all. Because I don't know how to fix us, and I can't spend the rest of my life living like this."

"Nor should you," Dom replies soothingly, resting a hand on my arm. "I love James, and I love you, and I love the two of you together when you're happy together, but if you're not in love with him anymore, then you need to do what's right for you and walk away."

"Not loving him anymore isn't the problem," I tell her, sniffling just a bit. "Not even a little bit. I love him so much that it actually physically hurts sometimes - especially when we're fighting like this and I  _know_ I'm hurting him - and I… I can't imagine my life without him. Without all of you."

Lily's eyebrows scrunch together a bit at that. "We're not a package deal, you know. You don't lose all of us if you and James end things - yeah, you won't literally be family like you would be if you and James get married, but you'd still be as good as. You're too interconnected to all of us to escape the Potter-Weasley clan that easily."

And in a strange sort of way, that's actually kind of comforting. The idea of ending this with James isn't anything I actually  _want_ to happen, but the reassurance that his family won't abandon me entirely if it does is nice to have, I suppose.

"That's… good," I say, taking a seat on the plush bench sitting against the wall and pulling my knees to my chest. "But it's just… I mean, I can't keep doing this forever - it's breaking me, as today has already managed to prove - but I don't know how I can walk away either. And I think that's why I'm so happy to go along every time James changes course mid-argument."

I take a deep breath. "Because the other ways those fights could end are  _so_ much worse."

I've experienced James walking out the door after a fight before, even if it was only for a few hours, and the idea that it could ever be a permanent thing is somehow the most terrifying outcome I can think of.

Dom sits on the floor in front of me. "Just double-checking… this isn't, you know, a violent thing, right? Like, he's not hurting you or anything?"

"No, absolutely not," I reply immediately. Even in the worst of our fighting, I've never once felt threatened by him. And maybe that's proof that that fundamental level of trust between us is still mostly intact, in that I know without a doubt that he wouldn't ever hurt me like that.

"Okay, good," Dom replies, as Lily sits down next to her. "Well, in that case, if you want things to work out between you two, I think you need to fight for it."

She pauses to think for a moment before speaking again. "And as fucked up as fucking instead of fighting is... from where I see it, it means that James doesn't want this to end either. Otherwise, he would've walked away ages ago - you don't let something destroy you for that long unless there's at least some part of you that's convinced that it's worth it."

And despite all of this, I still think it's worth it too - James has undoubtedly been one of my best friends for years, and he's the person I normally tell  _everything_ to, and he's genuine and selfless and kind-hearted in ways that make me better at being all of those things. When we're good, we're absolutely incredible.

It's just a matter of getting back to that.

"So… what do I do?"

"James has a tendency to get very stuck on things he gets moody about," Lily replies. "It's part of the reason he and my dad had such an extended falling-out, because James got his mind set in looking at the situation in a certain way and just didn't want to budge, even when it means he turns into an overdramatic prick - and I've got a feeling that's what's happening here. I don't know what sort of advice I can give for handling that… it took my dad almost dying for James to get his shit sorted out, and I don't think you almost dying is a great option to intentionally pursue, but that's just my two Sickles on his attitude."

The corners of her mouth quirk upwards for a split second. "But I will say, as mind-blowing as the sex supposedly is - and we're pretending this is  _not_ my brother we're talking about right now, because I don't want to think about  _that_  - you should probably stop using it as closure for arguments. Because, like, as you've already pointed out, it's pretty shitty at actually providing any real closure, and it solves fuck-all."

I just nod at that - I've  _known_ sex isn't necessarily the healthiest method of conflict resolution, but it's more a matter of convincing myself in the moment to avoid taking the easy way out.

"I'm going to turn the advice you gave me last month right back around on you," Dom adds. "The only way you're going to get anywhere close to patching things up is if you confront him and talk about it. Not aggressively, because that'll just start another argument, but just an honest conversation. And if you can get to the bottom of what's really driving these issues between the two of you, maybe you can figure out how to fix them."

She's also right; and perhaps it's not any brand new information, but the fact that I'm getting the advice from someone else (who will also probably hold me accountable if I continue to avoid trying to handle things properly) is somehow different than just having the knowledge in my own head.

"Yeah," I answer softly, running the outer layer of fabric on my dress between my fingers, "that's probably a good idea. It's just… I'm scared."

Acknowledging that out loud feels oddly relieving. "I'm scared that the answer, when we really get down to the bottom of it, is that this… whatever it is between us, is too much to fix. And floating along on the status quo - no matter how horrible it is - feels safer than making that gamble. But I… I need to make it before the outcome gets picked for me."

"You know we've got your back no matter what," Dom says, leaning forward and squeezing my knee encouragingly.

"Yeah. Yeah I do."

"Is everything okay back here?" I hear Caroline ask from outside the dressing rooms.

Dom and Lily both turn to me expectantly - apparently I'm the only one who's allowed to give that answer.

And things most definitely aren't okay - I'm in a wedding dress with mascara trails down my face, for Merlin's sake - but I've already shown more than enough emotional vulnerability today, so I lie. "It's fine," I call out.

Dom gives me a look, because she  _knows_ I'm lying, but she doesn't refute me either.

"Okay," Caroline replies, the wariness evident in her tone. "Well, we'll be out here waiting whenever you're ready."

When I hear her walk away, I turn back to Dom. "I don't really want to broadcast James and I's situation right now," I explain. "I just don't know if any good will come from me broadcasting it to a ton of people - I feel like that's only bound to lead to more drama."

"That's fair enough," she concedes. "But also, you shouldn't just not talk to  _anyone_ about it either - I mean, look where repressing everything got you."

… She's got a point.

I nod. "I've talked to the two of you," I say, pulling my wand out and looking in the dressing room mirror as I mutter a spell to clean up the mascara tracks on my cheeks, deliberately avoiding looking down at the dress I'm wearing in the process. "And I'm glad I did - although I could've done without making a complete fool of myself in the process."

"Having emotions doesn't make you a fool," Lily replies. "Trying to pretend you're immune from them does, though."

And part of me wants to argue with that - because hiding whatever feelings I might have usually works out pretty well for me, thank you very much - but I know anything I say to that effect doesn't hold much weight right now.

"Well, I suppose today has shown everyone that I'm not immune," I say, with a hollow sort of laugh. "But I'd really prefer if we just… didn't talk about this anymore. Or tell anyone outside of this dressing room about it."

Dom sighs, and I can tell that she's just the tiniest bit annoyed with my insistence that none of us acknowledge what just happened - but she'd never say that outright or go against my wishes, either. "Yeah, we don't have to talk about it anymore."

"Thank you," I reply, and mean it.

When I emerge, it's almost impossible to tell that I was inconsolable not too long ago - my makeup looks fresh and not a hair is out of place.

"Is everything okay, dear?" Diana asks, as I walk back to where the remainder of the bridal party is still seated.

"Yeah, it is," I answer, and it's a little more genuine this time. "I just… got a little overwhelmed, is all."

She seems to accept that response. "It happens to the best of us," she replies sympathetically. "You really do look stunning in that, though."

I look in the full-length mirror again, and am struck once again by just how perfect this dress is.

Hopefully I'll actually get to wear it again.

But I push that thought away as soon as it comes - I've already  _had_  that emotional breakdown - and choose instead to be blindly optimistic about all of it.

"This is definitely the one," I tell her, a false sense of confidence behind my words.

And for all the drama that's just unfolded, it all fades away in everyone's eyes as a result of the excitement brought by me announcing that I've decided on a wedding dress.

 

* * *

 

Easter weekend arrives before I know it - despite my best intentions (or maybe not, maybe some part of my subconscious is still actively avoiding confrontation), I don't have a chance to sit down and talk to James during the week.

We're meant to have a Saturday night dinner at the Burrow, and Easter dinner itself with just the Potters. Having two dinners seems a bit excessive for a religious holiday that none of us actually celebrate, but I can't argue with Molly Weasley's cooking and a chance to spend quality time with the Weasley/Potter family.

James and I Apparate to the Burrow together, but I only have his hand in mine for the time required to get both of us there without Splinching involved. As soon as both our feet are planted in the thick, grassy fields that surround the place, James immediately pulls his hand from mine.

It's the tiniest of gestures, but it stings nonetheless.

He doesn't even want to  _touch_ me.

I straighten out the red and white floral dress I've got on, and we're only about twenty paces from the actual house when Dom walks out. She's got a strange expression on her face - almost pained - and when I get closer to her, she reaches out and grabs my arm.

"I'm so sorry," she says softly, pulling me closer to her so that only I can hear. "This had already been planned, and I couldn't ask anyone to call it off without a  _reason_ , and you'd explicitly told me not to mention anything to anyone, and - "

When we get to the threshold of the Burrow, Dom trails off and steps aside, and James ends up back by my side again. And it's good timing that he does too, because as soon as we open the door, it becomes apparent that  _everyone_ has been waiting on our arrival specifically.

There's even an honest-to-Godric banner with our names on it.

"Surprise," Ginny says, crossing the room and pulling both of us into a hug. "We figured since your engagement dinner got interrupted by a Ministry emergency, we'd try again with a little something to celebrate the halfway point between your engagement and the wedding itself."

And it's  _such_ a sweet gesture, and it's clear that the whole family was in on this, that I almost hate myself for having such powerfully mixed feelings about it.

It's once again another glaring reminder of everything that hangs in the balance right now. Of everything I stand to lose if whatever's really going on between me and James is actually beyond repair.

Because as much as Dom and Lily say that I won't lose them and their family… I will, in a way. They may all still be friends with me, but I won't see them for every holiday, be invited to every family dinner, experience sweet gestures like this.

There's a huge,  _huge_ gap between just being their friend and being James' soon-to-be wife.

"This was so sweet of you, thank you," I reply to Ginny, doing my best to sound cheerful amidst the storm in my thoughts.

"Thanks, mum," James says from beside me, surprising me when he takes my hand again.

It shouldn't be all that surprising though - pretending to be fine in front of the people we know is something we've been doing since the Ministry gala. I should know that this is par for the course, that James' hands will be all over me until we're out of eyesight, at which point he'll make it clear he doesn't want anything to do with me at the moment again.

And  _Merlin_ , it's so messed up that this has become our new normal.

Part of me wonders if Dom and Lily can tell now, if, now that they know the backstory, they can see right through the act. Dom's always been perceptive like that - it probably hasn't escaped her eye that James only reached out to me once his whole family was watching us.

It becomes apparent to me that this dinner was definitely planned as some sort of surprise party, rather than just being a last-minute change to a regularly scheduled Easter dinner. The whole affair is directly catered to me and James - Ginny found my favourite chianti, Nana Molly made all of James' favourite foods, and there's a wrapped gift sitting in the centre of the table.

Dinner itself is fine; there's chaos and good-natured teasing all around, none of which is even remotely surprising for this family.

Caroline's here with Freddy - they're apparently fully serious enough now that she's becoming a regular fixture at family dinners again - but I can't help that notice that Zara isn't here with Molly, nor is Markus here with Louis.

The latter is unsurprising given that both of them are so adamant to not label things quickly, but Zara's absence is a bit surprising. Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever seen her with Molly at a family gathering that involves anyone other than just cousins.

If I were doing better at being a good friend, I'd  _know_ more about that situation, but I'm totally clueless. And Godric, it sucks knowing that I've inadvertently become so removed from so many people's lives.

Which, I suppose, is something I  _also_ need to deal with, once James and I sort things out…  _if_ James and I sort things out.

After the plates have been cleared and magically stacked in the kitchen to await washing, the gold and white wrapped package comes to rest in front of where James and I are sitting.

"What is this?" James asks, a bit confused by the gift. We'd already gotten a few gifts from his family when we go engaged - including the honeymoon from his parents - so I understand why he'd be puzzled by this one.

But on the other hand, I recognise what the shape of the package looks like, and my stomach inexplicably sinks as I realise that I know  _exactly_ what this is.

"That's what opening it's for, mate," Al says jokingly - he's clearly a bit eager for us to open it.

So with a shared nod, Janes and I start pulling the wrapping paper off from one side each until we meet at the middle. And, to confirm my suspicions, the object underneath is a simple black and gold scrapbook, with 'James and Abby' etched into the front cover.

For every Potter/Weasley wedding I've been to - first Teddy and Vic's and then Al and Cecile's - the family has had the same joint gift for the newlyweds. Each married couple in the family (all… eight of them at this point) contributes a couple of pages worth of marriage advice.

It's kind of amazing that every couple in this family has managed to have such a long-lasting, healthy marriage - it's so polar opposite to the ways I saw marriage play out in my own house as a kid - and I have no doubt that all of them poured their hearts into filling these books with the best advice they've got. Although it's usually -

"I know we usually don't do this until closer to the wedding," Harry explains, answering a question that I don't even get to ask, "but we all had our pages done anyways, and we figured why not let you have it in advance?"

Al and Cecile in particular look particularly proud of that, most likely because they were the only two who actually had to write up brand new pages for the book.

"Well, thank you," I say, and I know I should probably look around and  _acknowledge_ the people who gave this to us, but instead, I run my fingers along the outside cover, feeling the ridges of our engraved names, before starting to flip through it.

James is looking at it over my shoulder, but somehow I get the feeling that I care more about this book than he does.

The pages are all completely filled. There's some that are written out in the form of neat lists (Ron and Hermione's, no doubt) and some that are much more chaotic, with random scribbles added all over the page. The advice is wide-ranging -  _Dance with each other even past your wedding night_ ,  _Marriage is 60% give and 40% take_ ,  _Don't go to bed angry_.

And it's like slow motion, as my fingers delicately trace around the words on the page. As much as James' family means to me - and I really love them, from the very bottom of my heart - figuring out where James and I go from here has to be entirely independent of that.

Because this is a marriage between the two of us, a commitment that we want to spend the rest of our lives together - as wonderful as the Potters and Weasleys are, I don't share a bed with any of them. I don't come home to any of them. I don't say my vows in four months to any of them.

The only person that matters here is James. And James is the only person I can base this decision on.

There's a note at the top of one of the pages that catches my eye and sticks with me; based on the script-like, almost-calligraphy handwriting, I'm pretty sure it's part of Bill and Fleur's page.

_Trust is the most important building block you've got. Always trust one another, and always prove to each other that you're worthy of that trust._

I only have to read the words once for them to be burned into my brain, repeated over and over inside my own head as I close the cover and finally look up at everyone. The smile on my face is not at all reflective of the echoes of Fleur's words pinging around in my head right now.

"This is really wonderful," I say sincerely, as James' arm wraps around my shoulder. "I'm sure it'll be a valuable source of advice for us going forward."

So long as there is a forward, that is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 20…
> 
> For the first time in Merlin knows how long, I leave the Auror office right at five even though I've still technically got work to do.
> 
> It can wait. This is far more important.
> 
> I'm home before James, but not by too much. I've only just made myself a cup of tea and sat down on the couch when I hear the fireplace roar to life again.
> 
> My early arrival clearly startles him, because he does a bit of a double take when he sees me sitting on the couch, taking a sip of tea. "What are you doing home so early?"
> 
> I take a deep breath, willing myself to do the very thing that's scared me for so long. "We need to talk."


	20. Complexity #20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes it's all too much.

Easter itself is also exceptionally busy; somehow, James' duties as godfather mean we're babysitting Margeaux all morning as Teddy and Victoire go to brunch with some of their Hogwarts friends.

Supervising a seven-month-old baby doesn't exactly lend itself to having important conversations about our relationship, so it'll probably have to wait until tomorrow. Because naturally, once I'm actually  _wanting_ to sit down and talk with James, there's no time to.

"Lily's going to tell my parents about the tattoo artist thing today, by the way," James says to me, as we're sitting on the floor with Margeaux while she entertains herself with a set of blocks.

"She is?" I didn't even know Lily had made the decision to actually tell James about it, much less her parents.

"Yeah. She told me you've known for a while but she swore you to secrecy."

I can't tell if he's mad about that or not - I don't imagine he would be, but I also can't really tell what's managed to get under his skin these days. But I can only hope he's not trying to start an argument in front of Teddy and Victoire's kid.

"I found out at Christmas," I say, paying more attention to Margeaux clasping a star-shaped block than to James. "I tried to convince her to tell you, but it clearly took her awhile to listen to me."

"Yeah, she said she thought I'd judge her or tell her not to do it or something," James mutters. "Which is… absurd. I want her to do something that makes her happy."

Funny how those same wishes don't seem to apply to  _me_.

I bite my tongue, reminding myself that I'm done with underhanded comments. Margeaux happens upon her stuffed toy with a mirror on the belly and grins at her own reflection, star block abandoned entirely.

"I guess she figured that out eventually," is the answer I finally give, grabbing Margeaux and her toy and putting her on my lap.

It's surprised me how good I am with her and how much I enjoy the times like this where we've ended up on babysitting duty. I've never really thought of myself as maternal in the slightest - I still grimace at toddlers throwing tantrums in public and maintain that I'd be a miserable Defense professor because I don't have the patience for dealing with first-years, but… I don't know. Maybe I don't hate the idea of lazy Sunday mornings like this with James when it's  _our_ kid in my lap.

I make a silly face that Margeaux can see in the mirror behind her, and she shrieks with joy. I look up at James, and there's an unexpected softness in his eyes that suggests his thoughts might be in a similar place to mine.

I want to say something, to acknowledge that our thoughts have gone to an identical place right now, and that it's something we've still got a shot at making a reality a couple years down the line, but I can't quite figure out how to express those thoughts out loud.

Before I get a chance to, James clears his throat, and the gentle expression is gone. "I'm going to go… do something. Yeah. You good to keep an eye on Margeaux?"

"Er, yeah," I answer, caught off guard.

It's impossible to escape the sinking feeling in my stomach as he gets up and walks out of the room. I'm not sure what changed in those few moments - what shifted inside his mind - but it doesn't exactly scream anything good.

"It's just you and me now, I guess," I tell Margeaux a bit somberly, pulling out my wand so that I can levitate a blanket in front of my face for a game of peek-a-boo.

And because she's a baby and has minimal ability to detect the change in my tone or the way my mood has shifted since James left, she just babbles nonsensically in response.

 

* * *

 

Once Teddy and Vic show up to pick up Margeaux, and James and I have changed from baby-friendly attire to family dinner-friendly attire, we head over to the Potter house. James is presumably over whatever strange thing caused him to leave me alone with Margeaux earlier, but at the same time, I still have no idea what he was even upset about in the first place.

Ginny and Harry immediately rush over to greet us when we arrive, even though it's been less than a day since we saw them last. Al and Cecile are somewhere out in the back garden, and Lily's still getting ready.

As James goes into the kitchen to get us both drinks, I can't help but look around the living room at all the pictures here. Over time, and as the Potter kids have all grown up, photos have been replaced and added, and for the first time, I notice just how many of them I'm in. Just how many family memories my face has made its way into.

If James and I break up, what happens to them? Do Harry and Ginny get rid of all these pictures, so that their family photos aren't marred by an ex-fiancée? Do they leave them as is, until the day James brings someone new home whose face starts to fill the frames instead of mine?

It's the first time I've ever imagined James moving on with someone who isn't me, and the thought makes me feel physically ill.

"How long do we give it until mum realises they're real?" I'm drawn out of my own horrific thought spiral by Lily coming down the stairs, wearing a coral-coloured dress with thin straps that show every last inch of the floral tattoos adorning both her shoulders.

"Fifteen seconds, tops," I answer. Ginny's not stupid, and she knows her own daughter well - Lily wouldn't ever just do temporary tattoos. She's all in or nothing.

"You've picked a bold way to make this announcement," I tack on.

She shrugs. "It's gonna be a whole goddamn thing regardless, why not give my dad a quick heart attack while I'm at it?"

I hum in response. It's a very Potter thing, to fully commit to the thing or not at all, so I shouldn't be surprised that she's picked the most dramatic means possible to finally tell her parents about a piece of information that she's been holding onto for this long.

"Have you and James talked yet?" she asks, abruptly changing the subject.

"I - no," I stutter, then answer lamely.

She fixes me with a look that makes me feel many years her junior, not the other way around. "If I can face the music and do something I'm scared of, you can too."

I open my mouth to say something, to thank her maybe, but I'm interrupted from doing so by another voice that's just re-entered the room.

"Lily Luna, are those  _real_?" And then after only a beat of silence, "Oh my god, those are  _real._ "

I exchange a knowing glance with Lily - I know Ginny well.

"How long have you had them for?" she asks, stepping closer to Lily to examine her artwork more closely. "You've been here with us all week - when did you…?"

"I, er, I've had them since October."

For the first time since she walked in, Ginny's eyes go wide. " _October?_  How'd you get a full set of tattoos at school? I feel like I would've heard if they'd opened a tattoo shop in Hogsmeade - Neville's always talking about the new shops opening there." She laughs to herself. "Although I suppose Neville wouldn't be the type to know about a tattoo shop."

"There's no tattoo shop in Hogsmeade, mum," Lily answers, clearly a bit taken aback that  _this_ is the particular detail Ginny decided to latch onto. I think she was expecting Ginny to be a bit more pissed about them rather than interested in the process.

"Then how…?"

"I did them myself," she replies, jutting her chin out slightly, in what's either meant as a display of pride or defiance - probably somewhere in between, knowing Lily.

"You did them - " Ginny trails off, then laughs. "You tattooed half your body in your Hogwarts dorm room. That is… really something."

Naturally, James and Harry pick that exact moment to walk back into the room, drinks in hand.

"What's this about tattoos?" Harry asks, before his eyes fall on Lily's exposed shoulders. "Oh. That's… new."

"It's not, apparently," Ginny tells him, as James walks up next to me and passes me my glass of wine. "She did them herself back in October."

"They've been there for almost  _six months_? You were home for a month at Christmas!"

"And long sleeves exist," Lily replies, almost sarcastically.

"I can't - " Harry trails off, apparently needing a few more seconds to collect his thoughts. It's evident that he's at least a little bit more worked up about this than Ginny was. "You did those at  _school_. You put  _permanent ink_ on your body while at  _school_."

Ginny catches on just as much as I do, and rests a hand on his arm. "When we were in school, you started an underground resistance group and I tried to steal an artifact from the Headmaster's office - I hardly think a few tattoos in a dormitory is anything we have a right to get upset about."

"Yes, but… those are permanent!"

"And it's her body, so she gets to choose what she does with it," Ginny replies plainly. "Also,  _we_ almost got ourselves killed… multiple times. Which is also very, very permanent. There's absolutely no situation in which you can somehow paint this as  _worse_  than that."

Harry huffs - he knows he's lost this battle. "I guess they do look pretty cool - where'd you even learn to draw things like that?"

"I've been practicing," Lily answers, rocking back and forth on her heels. "Which kind of leads into the thing I wanted to talk about…"

I bring my wineglass to my lips and take a large sip; honestly, I can't imagine a world in which Harry and Ginny want anything less than for Lily to pursue something she loves, but her nerves are contagious, in a way.

"I'm opening a tattoo shop after graduation." She doesn't even give anyone a chance to respond before she continues. "I've already started working out how to get a loan from Gringott's, and I've got the money you guys set aside for graduation, and I know it's not a  _conventional_ job like the ones that James and Al have, but I really like doing this and I'm  _good_ at it and I'm an adult now who can make my own career decisions and I - "

In the brief silence as she tries to figure out what to say next, Harry cuts in. "Did you really think we'd tell you that you  _couldn't_ do something you wanted to? Remind me: when have we  _ever_ told you - or hell, even James or Al - not to go after your dreams?"

Lily blinks. "Er…"

"The actual tattoos are going to take me awhile to get used to," Harry continues, "but I  _want_ you to do what makes you happy, and it sounds like this is it. And it also sounds like you're already thinking through some of the less enjoyable details, like the money side of things, which is a good sign too. And your Uncle George knows more about starting a business than anyone I know, so you should definitely try to get some advice from him while you're at it."

"Told you, Lils," James says, smirking at his sister.

Ginny looks over at him. "Wait, you knew?"

Lily answers for him. "James and Abby both know, and so do Al and Cecile. I told them first because I didn't know how you guys were going to take it, and I just needed some… older sibling input."

"Because, you know, you two are such sticklers,  _obviously_ ," James tells them, and the sarcasm is evident. Harry and Ginny are some of the most laidback parents I've ever met, and not in the 'I can't be bothered with you' sort of way that I so often experienced with my own parents, but in the 'we want you to succeed and fail and make mistakes by your own merits' type of way.

Lily's so lucky to have them.

And so are James and Al, really.

There's an unexpected twinge of emotion - sadness? nostalgia? I can't quite label it - in my gut as Al and Cecile come in from out back and the timer in the kitchen starts going off, prompting Ginny to go fetch the food from the oven.

It makes me realise that I can't fake this anymore - I can't pretend to be okay and ignore every little thing that feels like it's falling apart when I'm around other people. Putting on a façade has so often been my specialty, but I just… I can't muster it anymore.

It gets to the point that even Ginny can tell something is wrong and, while we're eating dinner, she asks me if I'm alright. And it seems I've got one good lie left in me, because I just tell her that I'm not feeling well.

Which, I suppose, isn't  _actually_ a lie anyways, although what's got me feeling poorly is probably nothing like what she probably thinks I'm referring to.

But nonetheless, I make my excuses and leave as soon as dinner is finished, my plate hardly touched even though Ginny's cooking was exceptional. I tell James to stay here as long as he'd like - that I don't want to ruin his evening by making him come home with me - and kiss him on the cheek as I leave.

As soon as I get home and the mask is totally gone, I barely have enough energy to stay on my feet long enough to put on pyjamas. And I fall asleep with only one thing on my mind: James and I are going to finally talk tomorrow, no matter what it takes.

 

* * *

 

For the first time in Merlin knows how long, I leave the Auror office right at five even though I've still technically got work to do.

It can wait. This is far more important.

I'm home before James, but not by too much. I've only just made myself a cup of tea and sat down on the couch when I hear the fireplace roar to life again.

My early arrival clearly startles him, because he does a bit of a double take when he sees me sitting on the couch, taking a sip of tea. "What are you doing home so early?"

I take a deep breath, willing myself to do the very thing that's scared me for so long. "We need to talk."

James visibly tenses - and rightfully so. The phrase 'we need to talk' rarely forebodes lighthearted, friendly conversation, but I don't really know of any other way to initiate this.

"Yeah, I think we do," he replies eventually, a tone of resignation evident in his voice. "Just let me change out of this and I'll be back down."

He goes upstairs before I have a chance to respond - although I suppose he wasn't really asking for permission, so there's no reason he'd need to hang around for an answer.

When he comes back down the stairs - clad in a Quidditch jumper and a pair of joggers - he comes and sits down on the other side of the couch.

There's a stretch of silence between us; despite how many times I've rehearsed this conversation in my head, nothing really feels right in the moment.

James clears his throat. "Alright, what did you want to talk about?"

As I'm looking around the room - anywhere but at him - my gaze falls on the marriage scrapbook sitting on our coffee table.

"Our wedding is in less than four months," I begin, "and we're barely even speaking to each other. We shouldn't - we  _can't_ \- stand up at an alter and promise to be together forever if we're still like this."

"So what are you saying then?" There's a vulnerability to his voice that takes me by surprise.

"I'm saying fighting like this isn't sustainable. It's not fair on me, it's not fair on you, and it's just… I think we need to find a way to stop it before it spirals out of control."

He scoffs. "I think it's already out of control."

I think back to just how many times we've had screaming matches in this very same room - and he's right. "Okay then," I amend, "stop it before we cause any irreparable damage and lose whatever it is we've got left."

Our relationship is really starting to feel like it's being held together by just a few threads, and I don't know what would happen if any more of them broke.

"And what is it that you think we have left?" It's a completely innocent question, asked without even the tiniest hint of an edge to his voice.

"I…" I trail off - it's a good question, and one that I'm not entirely sure I have a full answer to. But I do know one thing, and that's what I say as I look up at him. "I love you. So, so much."

He runs his hand through his hair. "Well, good to know we're still on the same page there."

"And it's… Merlin, James, that's so important to me.  _You're_ so important to me. So I guess I just… I want to get to the bottom of what's really the issue here."

"What do you mean by that?" he asks.

I sigh involuntarily. "I just… we're arguing about such stupid, petty things, and I just want to know what's really underneath it all."

" _You_ may be arguing about petty things," he replies, and the edge in his voice is back, "but I don't exactly think you making a habit of working late, prioritising pretty much everything over me, and not telling me about some pretty significant parts of your life are 'stupid' things to fight about."

I'm taken aback by how quickly he's gone on the defensive. "If that's all there is to it, why is it that it's only just now coming up? I've been working crazy hours for forever."

"Not like this," he insists. "It's always at least felt like you were  _trying_  to maintain balance. Now it just feels like you've decided I'll just have to accept not getting any of your time anymore - and hell, you even  _admitted_ that you've been using work to avoid me. Any maybe I haven't been the most understanding, but honestly, what do you expect anymore? I'm fucking sick of it."

" 'Haven't been the most understanding' is the understatement of the century, James," I respond, getting defensive myself now. "You  _saw_ how much I was scared by that last victim, and yet, when I do whatever's in my power to get an answer on what happened - which is already giving us answers, by the way, not that you seem to care - you pick  _another_ fight about how I'm supposedly trying to avoid you again."

"Okay, fine, that was shitty of me," he acknowledges, "but you've picked plenty of fights too - you don't get to play innocent on this."

"I'm not trying to play innocent!"

A voice inside my head reminds me that this is supposed to be a calm, rational conversation, so I change my tone before speaking again.

"I just - I want to know where things went wrong. Because  _this_ ," I gesture between the two of us, "isn't healthy - I can't talk about anything work-related with you like I used to because I've got no idea how you'll react, and I feel like I never know when you're going to get randomly angry again or when you're going to be nice, and it's just… it's  _exhausting_."

James snorts. "You're telling me. You think you're not the exact same way? I can't ever tell where your head's at anymore, and you don't tell me anything anymore."

"Well, yeah," I answer, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes, "because, as I said, you have a tendency to blow me off whenever I try to talk about work things and, try as I might, I can't just  _magically make my job disappear_. Unless you want me to just completely quit it? Stay at home and be your perfect little housewife even though you and I  _both_  know that kind of life would make me miserable?"

He glares at me. "That's not what I'm asking of you and you know it."

I bring my hands up to my temples, as if the action will somehow provide a relief from the mess of thoughts in my head. "Why can't you just trust that I'm trying my best?"

"Because you're making it pretty damn hard to trust you."

My hands fall back to my sides, and I look back up at James, stunned. "What does that mean?"

"It means - " James starts, before shaking his head. "Forget it. It's not worth the argument."

"We're not arguing," I tell him, because we're  _not_. At the very least, this is notably more civilised than anything  _else_ we've managed lately. "We're trying to get to the bottom of this, and we're never going to get there if you're not fully honest."

"That's rich coming from you," James says with a scoff. "And I don't understand your obsession with 'getting to the bottom of this,' when I've  _clearly_ laid out exactly what my issues are and suggested how we can fix them, and you just insist on twisting my words and somehow painting  _me_ as the bad guy. But if we're really getting to the root of things, you know that  _you_ started this whole thing, right? You're the one who missed my entire fucking birthday dinner and then had the nerve to get pissed off at  _me_ the next day.  _That's_ where all of this shit started."

"It started before that," I reply. "You'd been making underhanded comments since the holidays."

"Which is, coincidentally, the same time you started disappearing more and more," he answers. "And I get that that's when the case started, but you have to admit that it feels pretty shitty that I propose to you and you immediately start prioritising me less and less. It's almost like you felt like, the moment I put a ring on it, shit was locked down and there weren't consequences for your actions when it came to me anymore."

"And yet somehow," he continues, "I'm the one who's always apologising. And you  _never_ do. The only times you've apologised to me are when I've fucking told you to, which, by the way, comes across as a pretty fake ass apology. So yeah, I've fucked up, but so have you - at least  _I_ take responsibility for it."

"I do take responsibility!" I argue, even though there's a nagging voice at the back of my head reminding of all the time I  _didn't_ actually apologise for things I've said. "But if you want to hear it again, fine. I'm  _sorry_ that I can't spend as much time with you as either of us would like, I'm  _sorry_ that I've said horrible things, I'm  _sorry_ that I can't seem to figure out how to get any better."

His expression somehow gets even angrier. "Yes, because all of that sounded like  _such_ a genuine apology."

"Yeah, well, it's hard to be genuine in the middle of a fight."

"So  _now_ you admit this is a fight," he says, before running his hands through his hair exasperatedly. "Can't we just, I don't know, fuck and try this again later? Because it's clear this conversation has gone to shit."

And Merlin, part of me wants to. But even the part of me that hates change and doesn't want to make waves knows that we  _can't_ do this anymore. We can't just turn to sex and 'try again later,' because we'll take that way out every time if we can.

And even though I have no idea how this will end - and given the fact that we've quickly taken a turn away from calm conversation, the feeling in my gut is that it won't be good - the part of me that needs a resolution to all of this has finally come to outweigh the part that's scared of it.

"I'm done running away from conversations," I tell him. "We can't just keep pushing things off until they explode because, Godric, if we do, it's going to get even messier than it already is - and we've already gotten to the point that we can't even have a calm conversation about our relationship without it getting heated - and  _yes_ , I'll take partial responsibility for that."

"Then what do you want to talk about?" he replies. "Because we've gone in fucking circles for the past… however long it's been since we started talking, and we haven't gotten anywhere productive with  _this_ either. I've told you  _exactly_ what's wrong - you haven't done the same, mind you - but you're not exactly offering any solutions either. And we're going to have this same fucking fight until the end of goddamn time unless it goes  _somewhere_ useful."

He pauses, but before I can speak, he picks back up again. "And you just asking me to 'be okay with things as they are' isn't a fucking solution. This  _isn't_ how functional couples work; you can't just get your fucking way with  _everything_. Because, and honestly I can't tell if you even care about this sometimes,  _I'm not happy either_."

I stand up from the couch and let the blanket on my lap fall to the floor, fully exasperated with this guilt trip. "Stop trying to act like I'm some heartless monster! Stop insinuating that I don't care about you, or that I don't want you to be happy, or that I don't listen to you. Because I  _do._  You're the person I care about most on this entire fucking planet."

"Then how do you propose we fix this? How do you address the fact that, no matter what you might think you're doing,  _I_ still feel like you don't give a shit about me sometimes? How do I suddenly become more sympathetic to your issues when you apparently even don't fucking trust me to tell me about the biggest ones in the first place?"

I think about Fleur's scrapbook advice again -  _Always trust one another, and always prove to each other that you're worthy of that trust._

"I  _do_ trust you." That's my part of the deal checked off, even though with his… there are still things I sometimes have questions about. "But it doesn't help when you show up smelling like you've been at a bar and hardly say why, or go out all the time without inviting me along, or - "

"Why would I invite you along to go out with me when you've said yourself that you barely have time to breathe anymore?" he responds, raising his voice. "And you really… you think that  _I'm_ the one who's been acting shady? That's  _real_  fucking rich. Look at you - you're suddenly at the office late all the time, you're spending less time with me, you're not telling me about things that happen at work, and when did all of that start, hm?"

He answers his own question before I have a chance to. "New Year's. Which just so happens to be the  _exact_ time that fucking  _Markus_   _Clark_  started at the Auror office. And you were just…  _instant_ best mates with him, so much that the  _Prophet_  spun it into a cheating scandal almost immediately, and you're still spending all your time with him and making all sorts of inside jokes at brunch and  _I don't know what the fuck to do with that_."

I stare blankly at him, disbelief clouding my thoughts as I try to put together what exactly it is that he's implying, what puzzle he's managed to assemble in his mind. "What are you trying to say?" I ask, my voice low and venomous.

He stands up from the couch, mirroring my stance. "I'm saying that you've given me a hell of a lot of a reason to believe that maybe that  _Prophet_  story wasn't a scam after all."

There's part of him - maybe not all of him, but at least the part standing in front of me now - that has pieced together a perfectly plausible narrative in which I fulfilled one of the worst stories told about me - and even beyond that, the implications of it being true now would mean that I'm not only unfaithful to my own relationship, but also wrecking Louis' at the same time. There's a part of him that's become convinced that I'm  _that_ heartless.

It feels like a Cruciatus to the chest, burning me up inside and taking the very last of my breath away with it.

"You said you didn't believe it," I say softly.

"And I didn't! But now - " he trails off, but the unspoken end to his sentence still rings out loud and clear.

And the last remaining pieces of me shatter, and some part of me in the back of my mind realises that James' trust in me was possibly the last thing still holding me together. It was one of those last few strings keeping our relationship intact, and now... that one's broken too. "You - you really believe it. You really believe I'd do something like that to you."

His expression twists into something new - and maybe it sinks in exactly what he's just insinuated. "No, that's not - that's not what I meant."

But it's too late for him to take it back, and I can't do this anymore. I think back to the moment, not that long ago, where I'd wondered what it would take to reach the point where leaving hurt less than staying. And looking at James, and realising that our relationships has so fully decayed to the point that he could actually believe I've been unfaithful to him, is… this is it. This is the breaking point I've been so afraid of hitting. I feel my eyes fill with tears, and I'm almost grateful for it, because it means I can't see his face anymore.

I open my mouth to say something -  _anything_  - but the words don't come out. All I know is that being here feels like something far worse than torture.

And so I do the absolute only thing I can: I Apparate away, the loud crack saying my goodbye for me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sneak peek of chapter 21…
> 
> It's nothing short of a miracle that I don't Splinch myself - maybe the sheer determination of being anywhere but home outweighs every other mistake in my Apparition technique.
> 
> But I arrive on Dom's doorstep entirely in one piece - it was the first and only place I'd thought to go - and I only manage to rap my knuckles on the door twice before the tears filling my eyes turn into full-blown sobs.
> 
> I just… I think I just left my fiancé.
> 
> There's a muffled 'who is it' that I couldn't answer even if I wanted to, and the door swings open only a few seconds later.
> 
> "Oh, fuck."


	21. Complexity #21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Removing yourself from the situation brings new perspectives to light.

It's nothing short of a miracle that I don't Splinch myself as I go - maybe the sheer determination of being  _anywhere but home_  outweighs every other mistake in my Apparition technique.

But I arrive on Dom's doorstep entirely in one piece - it was the first and only place I'd thought to go - and I only manage to rap my knuckles on the door twice before the tears filling my eyes turn into full-blown sobs.

I just… I think I just left my fiancé.

There's a muffled 'who is it' that I couldn't answer even if I wanted to, and the door swings open only a few seconds later.

"Oh, fuck."

Dom wraps her arms around me almost immediately, and all I can do is just continue to sob into her shoulder. I can't get out the words to tell her what's just happened or why I'm crying like this, but the fierceness in the way she's holding me suggests that she's probably already put most of it together herself.

I eventually let her guide me into her apartment, and when I sit down on the sofa and immediately bring my knees to my chest, she just sits in the space next to me and doesn't say a word. The only other sound in the room comes from the magic-resistant telly Dom bought a few weeks ago - some sort of sitcom is still softly coming through the speaker.

There's no possible explanation that I could give that gets at the magnitude of what this feels like - walking out after a fight is far too simple of a retelling of what just happened. It's been years since I felt quite this broken.

I'm really not sure how much time has passed by the time I finally stop sobbing - it could have been minutes or hours and I wouldn't know the difference - but Dom's still there, with a glass of water sitting on the table for me, when I do.

As I reach for the water glass, she speaks for the first time since I got here. "Do you want to talk about it?"

And I know I  _should_ , but I just… it's too fresh right now. Reliving everything that just happened - especially when I still haven't even processed it fully - is too painful to do just yet.

I'm not going to keep all of these feelings and thoughts sequestered inside my own mind forever - I really think I've had to learn this lesson enough times at this point that it might finally stick this time - but tonight isn't the time to dig back into our issues or to try to analyse where things went wrong. Tonight, I just need something,  _anything,_ to distract me from what still feels like a knife through the heart.

"Not yet," I tell her, to which she just nods wordlessly. "For now, can you just… I don't know, talk to me about literally anything else?"

"I can do that," she replies, and even though I know she's trying to hide it for my sake, there's just a hint of pity in her eyes that I kind of hate seeing.

Although I suppose, if there has to be a time where I'm at my most pitiful, I imagine showing up at Dom's doorstep in tears with no proper explanation is probably somewhere in the top five.

She launches into stories about Quidditch practices and statistics and some other more complicated things that largely go over my head, but it's actually kind of calming to just sit there and listen to her. There's absolutely no escaping reality, and the fact that I might've just rung the death toll on a relationship with someone who I once thought - maybe  _still_ think - was the love of my life weighs heavy on my chest. But the company and mindless chatter is invaluable, and it's probably the only thing holding me back from letting the pain of heartbreak fully consume me.

Eventually, it gets late enough that Dom lends me one of her T-shirts to sleep in, and Transfigures her couch into a small bed. I try not to think about the fact that I can probably count on one hand the number of times James and I have slept in separate beds since he moved in with me.

And fortunately for me, she also happens to have a few Sleeping Droughts on hand - I normally don't like taking them, but I feel like tonight's as good a night as any to make an exception. I uncork the vial she hands me and drink about half; I'm afraid any more means I somehow won't wake up on time in the morning, and I'm still meant to be at the Ministry first thing.

Life goes on, even when it feels like it shouldn't.

"You can wake me up if you need anything," she tells me, and I'm really not sure what on earth I ever did to deserve having someone like her in my life. I also know that there's no way that I'd actually wake her in the middle of the night - I'm already sleeping in her living room, and that feels like enough of an imposition in and of itself.

But I nod anyways. "Thank you for this."

I'm not really sure what 'this' includes; in reality, it's probably a little of everything: the fact that she's letting me stay at hers without asking too many questions, that she talked for hours to me even though I was hardly responsive and really just needed her as a distraction, that she somehow knew what had happened without me even needing to say a word. I just… Godric, I don't know where I'd be without her tonight.

"It's what best friends are for," she replies easily, before stepping all the way into her bedroom. She doesn't close the door, but I still feel suddenly alone regardless.

Luckily, I can also feel the Sleeping Draught making its way through my bloodstream, slowing down my thoughts and making my eyelids feel heavy, so I'm not given too much time to dwell on this sudden sense of loneliness.

But the last thing that crosses my mind before I fall into a dreamless sleep is wondering what exactly James is doing now that I'm no longer there with him.

 

* * *

 

Thanks to some colour-changing on my robes from the day before, a good bit of Dom's makeup, and a well-placed Cheering Charm or two, I actually manage to look mostly okay when I get to the office the next morning.

For what is most definitely not the first time, I find myself incredibly grateful that work is as hectic as it is - once I've got casework for multiple assignments laid out in front of me, it's a lot easier to stop replaying the things we said last night over and over in my head in an attempt to dissect the conversation and find some sort of closure in my mind about where to go from here.

The one thing that takes me by surprise, however, is Al. Not that he knows anything - the cheerful way he greets me when I come into the office tells me that, if I know nothing else of what James might have done last night, I know that he didn't go to Al.

No, what gets me is that I'd almost forgotten just how much he looks like James, and I wasn't prepared for just how much that one would sting.

I wonder if he notices that I don't look at him when I return his 'good morning.'

When I get to my desk, I immediately open the report I left unfinished yesterday evening and dive straight into it - filling out the mundane details of a case is effective at saving me from dwelling on things too much, but only for a short amount of time.

Eventually, I start thinking again - sorting through the details of where I'm supposed to go from here. Last night felt… final, in a way, but it wasn't closure. I'm not sure what closure looks like in this situation, but it sure as hell doesn't involve James still living in a place that still has my name on the lease and a diamond ring still on my finger.

And at some point, I guess we need that sort of closure. But that's a nail in a coffin that I don't know how to - and even after all this, still don't know if I want to - shut.

I don't think we've got any other options at this point, but that isn't going to stop me from stalling it out as long as I can. Maybe if I were braver, I'd get it over with today and rip it off like a plaster, but I'm a Ravenclaw at heart, and I'd so much rather give myself more time to process it first.

And maybe, just maybe, giving myself more time will somehow result in a miracle of miracles in which I somehow figure out how we come back from this.

It feels like a vain hope at this point - I don't know how we recover from the fact that we've both apparently completely lost any faith we had in each other - but it's there regardless.

"Abby - they put you on the hiring committee for new Aurors, right?" I look up at Aaliyah, who's tapping her quill against the side of her desk.

"Yeah," I answer. Truthfully, I'm still surprised by that decision - given how many of the senior Aurors have developed a distaste for me over the past few months, I don't know why they want me playing a role in choosing the new people to bring into the department.

"Good - I can't be on it this year for conflict of interest reasons, and I was going to be pissed if they didn't put you on as my replacement."

I look up at her, confused. "Conflict of interest?"

"My sister applied," she tells me. "And I am obviously somewhat biased on that one - even if they anonymise the applications again, I still know her scores and writing style well enough that I'd immediately recognise her. And that didn't seem entirely fair, so I told Potter to put someone else on the committee who wasn't me."

While I'm probably the voice in the office most similar to Aaliyah's - and I appreciate that she didn't get subbed out by yet another older, male Auror - I also feel like I probably don't need another group to be a part of.

Although I suppose there's no one holding me back from working insane hours to fulfill all my obligations anymore, I find myself thinking bitterly.

Not that  _I_  particularly  _want_ to be working insane hours though, either.

I use my lunch break in what feels like the strangest way possible - it's one of the few times that I know for a fact James won't be home, and I'm definitely not ready to talk to him yet, but I also can't stay at Dom's for any longer without having any of my belongings.

So I go home at lunch, filling my magically expanded purse with about a week's worth of clothes and a few other necessary things. I barely touch most of it - James more than likely won't even be able to tell that I've been here - but it's enough of my things to get me through what I hope will be enough time to prepare myself for what comes next.

I think about putting my engagement ring in my jewellery box, just so that I no longer have to see it on my own hand anymore, but I just… I can't do it. Whether that's from fear that my ringless hand will somehow end up on the cover of  _The Daily Prophet_ or because I'm actually still in denial, I'm not quite sure.

I stare off in the distance thinking about that for longer than I should, mindlessly twirling the ring on my finger but never quite getting to the point of taking it off.

Eventually, the clock downstairs dings, and it's my cue that I need to get back to the office.

I find Lila sleeping on my pillow - my half of the bed is made up, but James didn't bother with his own, it looks like. It's a weird sort of reminder of something I already knew - namely, that James and I slept apart last night - but it's weird to see it so clearly visually represented like this.

Part of me wants to take my cat with me - she's  _my_ cat, after all, not James' - but I can't exactly bring her to the Ministry with me for the rest of the workday, and Dom's apartment isn't exactly pet-friendly anyways.

"You'll stay with James for a little while, okay?" I tell her, petting her softly behind the ears. She leans into my touch and starts purring, indicating that my words have had zero effect on her, but it felt necessary to vocalise nonetheless.

He'll take good care of her for now, though. Until… until whatever happens next.

When I get back to the office - pretending like I don't have an entire suitcase's worth of belongings tucked inside my work bag - there's a report sitting on my desk, and the use of clean white rectangles of paper held together with black plastic binding suggests that it's most definitely not a magical report.

"Randall left that for you," Al says, hardly taking his eyes off whatever it is that he's working on. He's meant to be leaving on a mission tomorrow, so I'm sure it's some background report for that.

In bold capital letters along the top of the first page are the words ' _AUTOPSY REPORT,_ ' and I know precisely what it is that I'm looking at.

This is the final result of all my fighting about this particular avenue; now's where I get to find out if I've  _actually_ gotten us anywhere on this case.

I sit down at my desk and pull my hair up into a ponytail, blocking everything else out of my mind but this stack of paper.

The report itself is incredibly dense - worse than the majority of the reports I've seen come out of any Ministry department or even Mungo's, and some of the terminology goes entirely over my head. The actual formatting of the pages is also a bit difficult to work with, and I'm assuming that's because this wasn't a report meant to exist in printed form - Muggles store all their things like this electronically these days.

But I read and comprehend as much as I can anyways, eventually going down a few floors to get a dictionary from the shared Ministry bookshelves to figure out what some of the words mean, and by the end of the day, I think I've got a reasonable amount of notes on it.

Because I've got only the most basic knowledge of Muggle science subjects - I'd learned some of it in primary, but I've forgotten most of it at this point - I honestly can't tell yet if any of this information actually qualifies as a breakthrough. I'll have to get my hands on some supplemental material before I can make that call, I suppose.

But all in all, the day doesn't go as badly as I'd feared it might. I'm not  _happy_ by any stretch of the imagination, but I also made it through the whole day without ending up crying in the loo, which somehow feels like an accomplishment.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week is much of the same - although I feel my focus start to dwindle as the week draws on. I'm sure there's something of note in the report - particularly in the section about DNA matches - but I can't motivate myself to properly dig into the science behind it all.

I hate that I'm somehow letting my personal life affect my work - I feel like I'm supposed to be above this somehow, like I should be able to fully parse out these two individual sections of my life - but that's just… I guess I'm not perfectly immune to that.

I can't seem to shake the mental image of James' face as I left - it haunts me more than I care to admit.

It's honestly a wonder Harry doesn't cotton on; given how perceptive he's been about James and I's relationship in the past, I truly wouldn't have been surprised if he'd somehow caught on to me being just a little off all week.

And Merlin, I don't even know what I'd tell him. It's been four days, and I still have no more clarity than I did on Monday night.

But Caroline's coming over to Dom's tonight, in what is presumably Dom's attempt to either cheer me up or get me to open up - probably a bit of both - and I wonder if maybe talking will get me to a final answer this time.

Even if I'm not sure I want to know what that answer is.

When I Apparate back to Dom's flat and knock on the front door - I still very much feel like a guest there, even though I've been sleeping on Dom's couch for four nights already and she's told me it's fine to walk right in - Caroline's the one who opens the door.

I know that she knows the whole story - as does Freddy probably, and Merlin knows who else - so I'm surprised when she doesn't immediately give me the same sort of sad look that Dom did. Although Caroline's never been the type for pity anyways, so maybe it shouldn't be  _that_ surprising.

"Good timing," she says as a greeting. "Dom ordered pizza, and it just got here a few minutes ago."

I can't help but smile just a tiny bit at that - a proper girls' night with pizza and all is probably exactly what I need tonight.

And that's precisely what it ends up being - Dom puts some 'chick flick' movie on her fancy new telly and we eat an entire large pizza together and have a glass of wine apiece.

Dom's pouring herself a second glass when Caroline changes the subject. "So, what happened with you and James? Freddy only told me what he knew from James, which was just that you guys had a big fight on Monday and you haven't been home since."

"Yeah," I say with a sigh, "there's just… a lot that's happened between us over the past few months, and Monday was… I don't know what Monday was."

"But it's just been this whole thing since his birthday where we'd just been arguing constantly and we never really got anywhere with those arguments. We just kept fighting about the same things every time but running away from the fight every time it hit a peak and it progressively got nastier and nastier until… well, until wedding dress shopping happened."

I forget that Caroline wasn't in the room with me and Lily, but she doesn't seem to be all that shocked by the revelation that  _this_ was what caused that breakdown. "You know, I had a feeling that was somehow a relationship thing… but at the same time, you and James seemed fine every time I saw the two of you, so I wasn't sure."

I laugh bitterly. "We're apparently  _really_ good at pretending to be fine when we're not."

There's a beat of silence, and then Dom speaks. "So is this… are you two done now?"

It's a question I don't have an answer for either.

"Maybe? I don't know," I reply. "I don't want to be, but we also haven't exactly been able to deal with any of this properly either, and it doesn't feel like there's a way to come back from this anymore. And I mean, we tried to have a civilised discussion about all of the things that have come up between us and instead he essentially accused me of cheating on him with Markus, and that was just kind of the - "

"He did  _what_?"

"The same Markus that's dating my brother?"

"That's  _ridiculous._ "

They both look equally appalled at this news, and I almost feel slightly vindicated that this was in fact a valid thing to be offended and hurt by.

"We've been - I don't know, I don't think I've done  _anything_ to even suggest that I'd do something like that, and he  _told_ me when that news story first broke that he knew me better than that and trusted me enough to know I wouldn't do that, and somehow… somehow that's changed recently. He's convinced himself that he has a reason not to trust me."

"And you haven't given him one?" Caroline asks.

"No," I answer firmly, before wavering a little. "He's been annoyed about my work schedule - which I have  _no_ control over and I've tried to express that to him on countless occasions - but me working overtime is hardly evidence that I'm sleeping with one of my coworkers."

I'm fired up about the injustice of this whole situation - of all the assumptions James has made about me to come to this one awful conclusion - but I suppose anger is better than the alternative, which is most definitely breaking down into tears again.

I can't pretend like I haven't constantly been wracking my brain all week to figure out how awful I have to be in James' mind for him to even, for a fraction of a moment, put any weight behind the rumours.

"And he just… straight-up accused you of cheating on him?"

"Not quite," I say, because as annoyed as I might be, I can't pretend that James' pointed comments were anything close to a direct accusation. "He just… we were fighting and he made some off-handed comment that I told him to explain, and well, he laid out everything he seems to think could be evidence, and I just… I couldn't stomach being there anymore."

Dom nods sympathetically, but Caroline looks a bit more critical.

"So that's how you left it then?"

It's said so bluntly that I don't know what to do with it for a second. "Er, yeah."

"You do realise that's just you running away again, right? I get that being accused of cheating probably hurts like a motherfucker, but damn, you didn't at least try to defend yourself or sort through  _why_ he might be feeling that way?"

I've been getting nothing but pure sympathy from Dom all week, and Caroline's almost accusatory comments are a… massive shift from that. I'm stunned into silence and I just stare at her, wide-eyed.

"Caroline…" Dom says, almost warningly.

"No, Abby needs to hear this," Caroline shoots back. "You only have her side of the story - and James hasn't exactly been  _forthcoming_  with Freddy, but I do know some things from his point of view too."

She turns back to me. "Like the fact that you haven't apologised to him for  _anything_. And I'm sure he's got his fuck-ups too, but you're not entirely innocent either. You stood him up on his fucking birthday, for Merlin's sake."

Of course Freddy would've told her about that.

"And this whole cheating accusation thing feels like you were looking for a way out - you felt called out and got massively upset about something that, yes, is an awful thing to insinuate, but doesn't warrant running away from the argument -  _and_ James - for almost a full week. I'm not saying this to be a bitch, I'm saying this because I love you, and because you two are so much better than letting your inability to compromise or face problems head-on be the thing that tears you apart. Take it from someone who had their relationship torn apart by a literal ocean and had some serious shit to sort through when we got back together - it's worth it to fight for it."

There's absolutely nothing I can say in response to that. Part of me is a bit indignant - I've just been called out on a whole host of things, and my internal defence mechanism is in high gear - but a larger part of me realises…

She has a point.

She's not saying anything totally new, or anything that James hasn't said to me before, but it… feels different now. Maybe it's the space I've gotten from the situation over the last week, or that they're not being said when my defences are at an all-time high, but… Godric.

It's a bit of an epiphany, and it finally hits me that I care about James more than I care about my pride, more than I care about being right, more than I care about getting my way.

And I feel stupid - so,  _so_ stupid - for not realising that so much sooner.

After what feels to me like hours but is probably not even a full minute, I look up at her. "So how do I do that? How do I fight for it?"

She looks like she's thinking on that one for a moment. "I mean, I'm no expert on dealing with messy relationships, but from what I know of this situation, you need to try to fix things. And not in the shallow sort of way where you only use it as a gateway to asserting your own stance all over again like you've both done so far. You need to put yourself in a totally new environment with a totally new mindset - if you keep trying to 'fix your relationship' by literally doing the same thing over and over again, you're never going to fix shit."

"And I need to apologise," I add, because that's the thing that's stuck with me the most from Caroline's speech… if nothing else, I owe him an apology for never apologising before.

"That's definitely a step in the right direction," she agrees with a nod.

And I'm suddenly feeling impulsive and bold in a way that's remarkably out of character for me, and I suddenly stand up, setting down my long-empty wineglass on the table as I do so.

"I'm going to - I just, this has been a good night and I'm so grateful for both of you, but I just… I need to go and try to make things right, if it's not too late."

Dom nods understandingly. "Of course."

Caroline smiles softly, and I can tell that she's proud - although I'm unsure if she's proud of me for doing this or herself for being the catalyst of it. "Go do what you need to do."

"Thank you," I say to the both of them, and I'm struck for the millionth time this week by the fact that I've really ended up with some of the most incredible friends I could've asked for.

The one glass of wine I've had tonight is long gone - my senses feel like they're at an all-time high and my thoughts are racing. Unlike the countless times where I've felt like I'm somehow shutting down over these last few months, this feels like waking up.

And for some reason, the first place my mind goes is to the car parked outside James and I's place - it somehow seems like the perfect solution, in a way that I can't fully justify. But Caroline said we need a new environment, and that's… this is one way to get there, and there's something to be said for the way that a long, empty road can calm my mind.

So I hug both Dom and Caroline goodbye, and Apparate back home.

Instead of Apparating directly into the living room like I'd normally do, I Apparate into a side alley nearby. After a week of absence, suddenly popping up in the middle of the house seems wrong somehow - even though it  _is_ my place to begin with.

I walk up to our front door and ring the bell, taking a moment to revel in the oddity of that action. I've never had to ring the doorbell to my own house before.

But before I can linger on that thought for too long or start to doubt my decision to come here, the door is pulled open and I find myself face-to-face with James for the first time all week.

It strangely knocks the wind out of me.

He's got a good bit more stubble on his face than the last time I saw him, but he's wearing the exact same Appleby jumper that he was wearing the night I left.

"Abby?" he says, and his voice cracks a little on the first syllable.

Out of absolutely nowhere, an onslaught of tears start welling up in my eyes and falling down my face.

"I'm sorry," I start, and it takes more control than expected not to devolve into a blubbering mess. "I ran away in the middle of a fight instead of giving you a chance to explain. I got scared and hurt and my response to that shouldn't have been disappearing on you."

I take a deep, shaky breath. "But I'm not running away anymore. This is me, swallowing my stupid pride once and for all and apologising for that night and all of the things that happened before Monday that I  _also_ screwed up on, like ditching you on your birthday or picking a fight before the Ministry gala or not telling you about the Auror office. And it may be too little too late, but dammit James, you're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I don't want to give that up. I'm willing to compromise and do whatever I can to make this work - if you can find it in yourself to forgive me, come with me."

I hold out my hand, and James stares at it for a moment, bewildered by both my speech and the gesture. "Come with you where?"

"I don't know. For once, I'm doing something with absolutely no plan." I laugh through the tears. "I just want to drive for hours and get away from here and figure it out – figure  _us_ out, really – when we get there."

James studies me for a moment, and I'm almost positive that he's going to shut the door on me.

But instead, he reaches out, takes my hand, and answers, "Okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> damn, i really pushed the limits on the 'every other saturday' update schedule on this one - i blame the fun combo of my laptop being in the shop, my parents being in town, and my kittens needing to go to the vet today :P
> 
>  
> 
> Sneak peek of chapter 22…
> 
> "Hi," I say, doing my best to sound friendly and not scrunch my nose at this entire place, which could really do with a good Scorgify charm or twelve. "We need a room for tonight, please."
> 
> The receptionist looks up at me, an almost bored expression on her face as she looks between me and James. "The only room we've got is two singles."
> 
> "That's fine," I say hurriedly. At this point, I really don't feel like driving another fifty kilometres to the next shabby motel. And maybe sleeping in separate beds would be good for us, anyways.
> 
> "Alright then," she replies in that same monotone voice, before announcing a total amount due that seems almost criminally low, and not at all a good sign for the room we're about to be greeted with.
> 
> Thank Merlin we've got magic, honestly.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/shadowrose_hpft) and [tumblr!](http://legally-gryffindor.tumblr.com/)


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